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COFXRIGHT DEPOSIT! 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 









' 



Captain R. J. Manion, M.C. 



A SURGEON 
IN ARMS 



BY 

CAPTAIN R. J. MANION, M. C. 

OF THE CANADIAN ARMY MEDICAL CORPS 




D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK LONDON 

1918 



fa^sf/.&^A 









COPTBIGHT, 1918, BT 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 



M -I isle 

Printed in the United States of America 

©CLA497557 



TO 
MY WIFE AND BOYS 

I AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATE 
THIS LITTLE BOOK 



FOREWORD 

The greater part of A Surgeon in Arms was writ- 
ten before the United States entered the war in 
April, 1917. Therefore, the Americans are not 
mentioned in many paragraphs in which the soldiers 
of the other allies are spoken of. The Canadian sol- 
diers on the Western front have won undying fame 
for their marvelous feats in many actions, from the 
first battle of Ypres in April, 1915, to Vimy Ridge 
in April, 1917. As soldiers they take a place second 
to none. And, I believe, the American soldiers will, 
in the lines, show the same courage, dash, and initia- 
tive, and win the same fighting reputation and honors 
as the Canadians ; for do not Americans and Cana- 
dians inherit the same blood, literature, history, and 
traditions; do they not both live in the same wide 
spaces, speak the same mother tongue, aspire to the 
same ideals, and enjoy the same free institutions? 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER 
I. 


Life in the Trenches . 


PAoa 

1 


II. 


Over the Top . 


11 


III. 


Overland ...... 


21 


IV. 


Kelly . 


31 


V. 


The Language of the Line . 


50 


VI. 


Just Looking About . 


60 


VII. 


Gassed! ...... 


68 


VIII. 


Relief ....... 


80 


IX. 


Dugouts 


92 


X. 


The Sick Parade .... 


104 


XI. 


Caring for the Wounded 


125 


XII. 


Cheerfulness 


143 


XIII. 


Courage — Fear — Cowardice 


. 159 


XIV. 


Air Fighting .... 


. 182 


XV. 


Staff Officers .... 


197 


XVI. 


The Battle of Vimy Ridge . 




XVII. 


A Trip to Arras .... 


219 


XVIII. 
XIX. 


Stew) ..... 
Leave . 


. 224 
. 228 


XX. 


Paris During the War 


. 237 


XXI. 


Paris in Wartime 


. 250 


XXII. 


In a Chateau Hospital 


. 269 


XXIII. 


On a Transport .... 


. 293 


XXIV. 


Decorations .... 


. 300 


XXV. 







A SURGEON IN ARMS 

CHAPTER I 

LIFE IN THE TRENCHES 

LIFE "out there" is so strange, so unique, 
so full of hardship and danger, and yet 
so intensely interesting that it seems like an- 
other world. It is a different life from any 
other that is to be found in our world today. 
In it the most extraordinary occurrences take 
place and are accepted as a matter of course. 
I am sitting in a dugout near Fresnoy. 
Heavy shelling by the enemy is taking place 
outside, making life in the pitch-dark trenches 
rather precarious. A number of soldiers of 
different battalions on this front are going to 
and fro in the trenches outside. The shelling 
gets a bit worse, so some of them crawl down 
into the entrance of my dugout to take a few. 
minutes' rest in its semi-protection. They can- 

1 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

not see each other in the blackness, but with 
that spirit of camaraderie so common out there 
two of the men sitting next each other begin to 
chat. After exchanging the numbers of their 
battalions, which happen to be both Canadian 
and in the same brigade, one says, — 

"But you're not a Johnny Canuck; you talk 
like a Englishman." 

"That may be ; I was born in England. But 
I am a Canadian. I've been out there for sev- 
enteen years," the other returned a little 
proudly. 

"Hindeed! I was in Canada only three 
years. W'ere'd you come from in old Eng- 
land?" 

"Faversham, Kent." 

"Faversham! Well, I'm blowed! That's 
my'ome! What the 'ell's yer name?" 

"Reggie Roberts." 

"W'y, blime me, I'm your brother Bill!" 
Affectionate greeting followed, then explana- 
tions : The elder brother had gone out to Al- 
berta seventeen years before while the younger 
was still at school. Correspondence had 
stopped, as it so often does with men. 

2 



LIFE IN THE TRENCHES 

Fourteen years later the other boy went out to 
Ontario. When the war broke out, they both 
enlisted, but in different regiments, and they 
meet after seventeen years' separation in the 
dark entrance to my dugout. 

On the front of our division, an order came 
through telling us that information was reach- 
ing the enemy that should not reach him. For 
this reason all units were ordered to keep a 
sharp lookout for spies since we feared that 
some English-speaking Germans were visiting 
our lines. 

In our battalion at that time was a very 
good and careful officer, Lieutenant Weston. 
Rather strangely, one of the men of his pla- 
toon was a Corporal Easton. Shortly after 
the above order had come forth, Lieutenant 
Weston was sent out on a reconnoitering ex- 
pedition by night into No Man's Land. He 
took as his companion, Corporal Easton. Over 
the parapet they crept between flares, and pro- 
ceeded to crawl cautiously about among the 
barbed wire entanglements, shellholes, and 
ghosts of bygone sins and German enemies. 
At each flare sent up by us or the enemy, split- 

3 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

ting the thick darkness like a flash of lightning, 
they pushed their faces into the mud and lay- 
perfectly still, in order to avoid becoming the 
target of a German sniper, or even possibly of 
some over-nervous Tommy. If there is any 
place in this war where Napoleon's dictum that 
"a soldier travels on his stomach" is lived up to 
in a literal and superlative degree, it is in No 
Man's Land by night. 

Their reconnaissance had lasted some two 
hours when they started to return to what they 
thought was their own battalion front. But, 
as sometimes happens, they had lost their bear- 
ings. While they were correct as to the direc- 
tion toward the Canadian lines in general, 
they were really crawling to the firing line of 
one of the brigades to our right. Suddenly 
Weston, who was leading, found his chest 
pressing against the sharp point of a bayonet. 
He heard a voice hissing: 

"Who goes there?" 

"Two Canadians," he whispered in reply. 

"All right; crawl in here, and no funny 
tricks or we'll fill ye full o' lead." At the 
point of the bayonet he and his corporal 

4 



LIFE IN THE TRENCHES 

crawled over the parapet. They found them- 
selves in the enlarged end of a sap that was 
being used as a listening post. In the dark- 
ness they could dimly see that they were sur- 
rounded by soldiers with fixed bayonets. 

"What's yer name?" hissed the voice, for 
out there no one is anxious to attract a hand 
grenade from the enemy on the other side of 
the line. 

"Lieutenant Weston." 

"An' yours?" to the corporal. 

"Corporal Easton." 

"Weston — Easton; that's too damn thin. 
Now you fellows march ahead of us to Head- 
quarters, an* if ye so much as turn yer head 
we'll put so many holes through ye, ye'll look 
like a sieve. Quick march!" And they 
plowed through the deep mud of the trenches 
till they were well back, then they came out 
and proceeded overland to H. Q. — headquar- 
ters. Here, after a few sharp questions, a lit- 
tle telephoning, and some hearty laughter, they 
were given a runner to show them the shortest 
route back to their own battalion. 

Trench warfare as it has been carried on 
5 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

during this great war is different from the 
warfare of the past. Here we had — and have 
at the time of writing — on the western front 
alone, a fighting line five hundred miles long, 
with millions of the soldiers of the Allies occu- 
pying trenches, dugouts, huts, tents, and bil- 
lets, on one side of the line, and the millions of 
the enemy in the same position on the other. 
For months at a time there is no move in either 
direction. 

Trenches are merely long, irregular ditches, 
usually, though not always, deep enough to 
hide a man from the enemy. Occasionally 
they are so shallow that the soldier must travel 
on his stomach, during which time any part of 
his anatomy which has too prominent a curve 
may be exposed to the fire of the enemy. Of 
course this all depends on the architectural 
configuration of the traveler. Except trenches 
far in the rear, they are always zigzag, being 
no more than ten to twenty feet in a straight 
line, to prevent any shell's doing too much 
damage. The front trench is called the firing 
line ; the next one, fifty yards or so behind, but 
running parallel, is a support trench ; and other 

6 



LIFE IN THE TRENCHES 

support trenches exist back to about 1000 
yards. 

Communicating trenches run from front to 
rear, crossing the support trenches. Here and 
there a communicating trench runs right back 
out of the danger zone, and these long trenches 
are at times divided into "in" trenches, and 
"out" trenches. Shorter communicating 
trenches run from support to firing lines. 
These different trenches give the ground, from 
above, the appearance of an irregular checker 
board. 

The front wall of the trench is called the 
parapet, and the rear wall, the parados. Above 
the trenches, on the intervening ground, is 
overland. In the bottom of the trenches, when 
the water has not washed them away, are 
trench mats, or small, rough board walks. 
Sometimes the mud or sand walls of the trench 
are supported by revetments of wire or wood. 

No Man's Land is the area between the fir- 
ing lines of the opponents. It is a barren area 
of shellholes, barbed wire, and desolation, and 
may be from forty yards to 300 or more yards 
wide. Commonly, on standing fronts its width 

7 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

is about one hundred yards. Saps are trenches 
extending out into No Man's Land, and used 
for observation purposes or for listening posts. 
They may end in craters, or large cavities in 
the ground, made by the explosion of mines. 

Dugouts are cavities off from the trenches, 
connecting with them by narrow passages. 
The dugout proper is a cavity, small or large, 
used for living in and for protection from shell 
fire. They may be superficial, having only 
two or three feet of sandbags — more properly, 
bags of sand — for a roof; or they may have a 
roof ten to forty feet in thickness. But the 
term is often used carelessly for any kind of 
shelter at the front. 

At dusk and dawn the men usually "stand 
to," that is they stand, rifle in hand, in the 
trenches ready to repel any attack of the 
enemy. During the dark hours the men take 
part in working parties, or fatigues, to bring 
in water, clean the mud from the trenches, 
carry rations or ammunition, and dig holes or 
dumps in which munitions, flares, or equip- 
ment are stored. Fatigues are rather disliked 

8 



LIFE IN THE TRENCHES 

by the men, for they are laborious and just as 
dangerous as other work in the lines. 

In speaking to each other, and often in offi- 
cial communications, abbreviations are much 
employed among officers and men. For exam- 
ple: O.C., or CO., is used to signify the officer 
commanding any unit, whether it be the Lieu- 
tenant Colonel in charge of a battalion, or the 
Major, Captain, or Lieutenant in command 
of a company; the M.O., or the Doc., is com- 
monly the shortened form for the Medical Of- 
ficer; and H.Q. signifies headquarters, and 
may apply to company, battalion, brigade, di- 
visional, corps, or army headquarters, any of 
which would, generally speaking, be specified, 
unless the conversation or communication 
made it plain which was meant. 

After big advances there are varying periods 
during which trench life is more or less aban- 
doned for open warfare. After an advance the 
consolidation of the land taken consists of 
again digging trenches and dugouts, preparing 
machine-gun emplacements, bringing up the 
artillery, and establishing communications. 
During this transitory period the losses are 

9 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

often heavy, because of the poor protection af- 
forded the men and the fact that the enemy is 
well acquainted with the ground which he has 
abandoned, willingly or unwillingly. 



CHAPTER n 

OVER THE TOP 

WHEN a man has gone over the top of a 
front line trench in an attack on the 
enemy, he has reached the stage in his career 
as a soldier at which the title, "veteran," may 
honorably be applied to him. 

For, to climb out of your burrow where you 
have been living like an earthworm into God's 
clear daylight in plain view of enemy snipers, 
machine-gunners, and artillerymen, and, un- 
der the same conditions, to start across No 
Man's Land toward the Hun in his well-pro- 
tected and fortified trenches, is indeed to earn 
that distinction. 

Many there are who have courted death in 
this form, again and again, and "got away 
with it." But it is a good deal like trying your 
luck at Rouge et Noir in the Casino at Monte 
Carlo. The odds are against you, and if you 

11 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

keep at it long enough you are almost mathe- 
matically certain to lose out in the end. 

The boys know this as well as you and I. In 
spite of that knowledge, over the top they go 
again and again, by day and by night, with a 
smile on their lips, blood in their eyes, and joy 
in their hearts at the thought of revenging 
themselves upon the despicable Hun for his 
breaking of all the laws of civilization, for his 
utter disregard of the principle that "between 
nation and nation, as between man and man, 
lives the one great law of right." 

Attacks in which the men go over the top 
are of various kinds and on different scales. 
The commonest are simply raids in which a 
small sector of enemy lines is the object. By 
them we endeavor to obtain prisoners for pur- 
poses of identification of the troops opposing 
us, while at the same time we depress the mo- 
rale of the enemy. 

Then there are the immense attacks, called 
pushes, in which we mean to push back the 
enemy, take possession of his lines, consoli- 
date and hold them, killing, taking pris- 
oners, and putting hors de combat as 

12 



OVER THE TOP 

many as we can in the process. These pushes 
are always on a greater scale and require thor- 
ough organization and preparation to be suc- 
cessful. If they should fail, our last condi- 
tion is worse than our first. We have not only 
wasted all our immense preparations but we 
have lowered the spirits of our own men, and 
raised and encouraged the fighting spirit of the 
enemy. 

The man who is sitting comfortably in his 
library five or six thousand miles from the 
scene of battle notes on the map on his wall 
that it is only five inches from the firing line 
of the Allies to the Rhine. He may decide 
that it should be an easy matter to bring up 
a few million troops, break through the en- 
emy lines, push a million men through the gap, 
cut the communications of the opposing forces, 
hurl the enemy back into the Rhine, and make 
him sue for peace. 

On paper, and with the aid of a vivid imag- 
ination, this may look easy. In reality the 
preparations for a great advance are enormous. 
For weeks before the push, even for months, 

13 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

the staffs of battalion, brigade, division, corps, 
and army are planning it. 

Dummy trenches are laid out from aerial 
photographs, taken by aviators, and dummy 
advances are practiced with all the details as in 
real advances. Our information must be so 
complete that we know even where certain 
dugouts are in the enemy lines, and who occu- 
pies them. This knowledge comes from pris- 
oners and deserters. Raids are put on to know 
what troops are opposing us by the identifica- 
tion of prisoners. Medical arrangements have 
to be completed so as to handle the hundreds 
or thousands of casualties that must occur. 

Immense guns must be brought up, and 
millions of shells must be piled along the roads 
and stored in dumps ready for use during bat- 
tle. Water arrangements have to be made to 
supply pure water to the troops when they 
cross into enemy territory, for the enemy may 
have destroyed or poisoned the water supplies 
as they retired. Extra food rations and equip- 
ment must be supplied the men. Places of 
confinement for the hoped-for prisoners must 
be built. And, finally, thousands of extra 

14 



OVER THE TOP 

troops must be brought up and trained for 
the attack. 

The above are only a few of the prepara- 
tions that must be made, for the details are 
multitudinous. The most difficult thing is that 
these preparations must be carried out so far 
as possible without the enemy's knowledge. 
For he also has his aeroplane scouts taking 
photographs and looking about for informa- 
tion, his observation balloons and his spies, his 
raids and his prisoners. It is even possible 
that we might have a deserter who betrayed 
us to him, though one feels that this must be 
exceedingly rare. 

If the armchair critic has read the above 
he will perhaps realize a little more vividly 
than he has done before how difficult advances 
are and why it is more easy to talk of getting 
the enemy on the run than to actually do it. 
Once he has started to retreat and you to ad- 
vance, your difficulties multiply and go on in- 
creasing in direct proportion to the distance 
that you get from your base of supplies. Your 
munitions, food and water must be transport- 
ed from the rear over strange roads pulverized 

15 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

by shell fire, while your enemy is backing into 
greater supplies hourly. 

One of the most difficult propositions is to 
keep the different parts of your immense or- 
ganization in communication with battalion, 
brigade, and divisional headquarters. Many 
different methods are used. 

Perhaps the most reliable is by runner, or 
courier, on foot. The runner has an arduous, 
dangerous, and often thankless, task, which he 
performs as a rule patiently, bravely and tire- 
lessly. The telephone, telegraph, and power 
buzzer — the latter being sometimes used with- 
out wires, at a distance as great as 4000 yards 
— are commonly employed, though they have 
many disadvantages. The first of these is the 
difficulty in installing them in the face of heavy 
shelling and counter attacks by the enemy. 
Secondly, they are likely to be put out of com- 
mission, their wires being destroyed by shells. 
Finally, their messages are often picked up 
through the earth by your opponents with 
some apparatus invented for the purpose. 

There are the semaphore and flashlight meth- 
ods of signaling, and signaling by flares, all 

16 



OVER THE TOP 

naturally very limited in variety of use, the 
latter particularly so. But flares are of great 
service when a hurried artillery retaliation is 
desired, S. O. S. flares then being sent up. 
The wireless apparatus on aeroplanes and the 
throwing of flares by aviators are also used 
to good account. But there are times when all 
these different methods are found wanting. 
Through force of circumstance a battalion or 
company may be completely isolated, and then 
it is that the last and least employed method, 
that of carrier pigeons, is resorted to. In each 
battalion are a couple or more specially trained 
carrier pigeons, and to speak of the "O. C. 
Pigeons" is a standing joke. The pigeons are 
rarely employed. It may be almost forgotten 
that they are with a unit, as was practically 
the case of one battalion at the Somme of which 
the following story is told: 

The commanding officer had waited in vain 
for hours for some message as to the success 
or failure of a show one company was putting 
on. He was impatiently striding up and down 
when a poor little carrier pigeon fluttered into 
his presence. He hurriedly caught it, and 

17 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

untied from its leg the following message: 
"I am bally well fed up carrying this damned 
bird about. You take it for a while." 

After all this preparatory stage is com- 
pleted, when transport, artillery preparation, 
communication, maps, training, dummy ad- 
vances, extra rations, water, medical supplies 
and equipment, are in order, the next move 
is to get all troops taking part in the ad- 
vance into the most advantageous positions, 
unknown to the Germans. The men are well 
fed, given extra water bottles, "iron rations" 
are in their kits — that is, bully beef and bis- 
cuit — they are equipped only in fighting dress. 
By night they are marched into the trenches 
from which they are to go over the top, and 
after a few hours of rest, broken by shell fire, 
the zero hour, or hour of attack, arrives. 

Just before the great advance in which the 
Canadians took Vimy Ridge, that hill conse- 
crated by the graves of thousands of French, 
British, and Canadian soldiers, our brigade 
had made all these arrangements. We were to 
march into the line on Easter Saturday and 
go over the top the following morning at day- 

18 



OVER THE TOP 

break. But at the last moment we were de- 
layed by a brigade order, due to information 
obtained from a German deserter, information 
that said that the Huns knew that we were to 
attack on Easter Sunday. 

While sitting in my tent I was visited by 
officers on various missions, some to get dress- 
ings to carry in their pocket, dressings that 
they neglected getting till the very last mo- 
ment; others to tell me that such and such a 
man was afflicted with that grievous malady, 
"cold feet," and if he should visit me on pre- 
tension of illness, to bear this fact in mind; 
and again others with no object but a pleas- 
ant word. 

Among those who always had a humor- 
ous word and a smile, and whose honest 
eyes always looked at one fearlessly through 
his gold-rimmed spectacles, was Lieutenant 
Henderson — "Old Pop," as the younger offi- 
cers always called him. After his usual cour- 
teous and kindly greeting we joked about the 
possibility, or rather the probability, of some 
of us not coming back from the great ad- 
vance. No doubt he voiced the opinion of most 

19 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

of us when he said with a hearty laugh — 
"You know, Doc, the main objection I have 

to death is that it is so d permanent." 

The following day "Old Pop" was no more. 
His jolly laugh and his voice with its pleas- 
ant burr were to be heard no longer in our 
ranks. He had met death while bravely lead- 
ing his men across No Man's Land like the 
gallant Scotch gentleman that he was. 

Something which struck me then, and which 
still impresses me as extraordinary in looking 
back at it, was the buoyant, cheerful, optimis- 
tic spirit in which our army of citizen-soldiers 
looked forward to the day when we were to 
take part in one of the greatest battles in 
history. We knew it was to be a fearful and 
magnificent trial of strength out of which many 
of us would never return to the people and 
the lands we loved. And yet all awaited it 
with a gay, hopeful, undaunted optimism, ask- 
ing naught but the opportunity, anticipating 
nothing but victory. It is unbelievable that 
the blind obedience of a militaristic kaiserism 
can ever subdue a soldiery who so freely offer 
their all on the altar of liberty. 

20 



CHAPTER III 

OVERLAND 

THE normal position of man on the earth 
is on its surface. 

Generally speaking, when he is under 
the surface he is in his wine cellar, or he is 
dead. But at the front all this is altered. 
Both the enemy and ourselves have re- 
verted to the cave age, for if we wish safety 
in the lines — comparative safety, that is — we 
pass our time in caves or cellars, dugouts or 
trenches. 

Not that living underground would be taken 
as a matter of choice in the piping times of 
peace. For the mud and dirt of the trenches 
and dugouts cannot, by any stretch of the im- 
agination, be said to be comfortable or pleasant. 

The fact that your only chance against 
a hidden enemy is also to hide makes your de- 
sires subservient to necessity. In fact, both 
the enemy and ourselves are continually bur- 

21 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

rowing deeper and deeper in each other's di- 
rection. At the end of the burrow or tunnel we 
place charges of dynamite to blow each other 
out into the open. The fear that your enemy 
may succeed in doing it to you first, and that 
some fine day you may awaken to find your- 
self sailing about in the heavens with no sup- 
port but the explosion which sent you there, 
makes many a man on a dark night hear imag- 
inary tappings, causing him to report that he 
fears the enemy are mining underneath us. 
More than once out of the pitch darkness has 
come into my dugout some lonely sentry to 
tell me that he has heard mysterious ham- 
mering underfoot, and only when we had lo- 
cated the real cause as something other than 
he thought, did his — and perhaps our — ner- 
vousness disappear. 

On one occasion a non-commissioned officer 
came hurrying into the H. Q. dugout of a cer- 
tain Canadian battalion. With hair standing 
on end he reported that an augur had actually 
come through the bottom of the trench in 
which he had been standing. The colonel in- 
sisted on investigating this himself, and found 

22 



OVERLAND 

that a mole had bored his way through the 
ground. 

These fears may have an unconscious effect 
in making everyone wish to get out of the semi- 
darkness of the trenches into the bright sun- 
light which dispels clammy feelings and fears 
as if they were mists of the morning. But the 
real reason for traveling overland is that at all 
ages and in every clime the forbidden or dan- 
gerous has its attractions. Thus it is that 
out there both officers and men, contrary to 
orders and upon the flimsiest of pretexts, climb 
out of the trenches and in more or less plain 
view of enemy snipers or observation posts 
walk again like ordinary human beings on the 
face of the earth. 

This practice is very common where the 
trenches are muddy, or knee or hip -deep in 
water. It is the recognized custom after dark 
when working parties are carrying up ammu- 
nition or rations. Not rarely some of the men 
of these parties are hit by bullets put across 
from fixed machine-guns. It is a weird sight 
on a dark night to go overland and, in the 
dim light of the flares or star shells, to discern 

23 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

long rows of men trudging along with packs 
of supplies. They loom up suddenly before 
you ; or, perchance, a column of the ever-useful 
packmules pass, patiently carrying their bur- 
dens overland. And often by day one comes 
across the body of a mule that was given rest 
from its weary toil by a German bullet, at 
which times one cannot but wonder if in a 
happier land the patient, plodding, much- 
abused packmule is given his just meed of 
appreciation and kindness. 

When someone pays the price of his reck- 
lessness in going overland, the price is most 
often exacted by a bullet. What insidious lit- 
tle things bullets are! They sneak in and hit 
you without forewarning you in any way, and 
they may hit so hard that you do not know 
you are hit even then. Most men out there 
have more respect for them than for shells, 
for often you have time to "duck" against the 
side of a trench and so partly dodge a heavy 
shell. 

But you can't dodge a bullet. It gives 
you a most uncanny feeling to be taking a 
short cut overland, and suddenly to hear a 

24 



OVERLAND 

"ping-thud" just beside you, thus learning that 
some German is trying to pot you as you pot- 
ted an innocent red deer on your last hunting 
trip. Or you may be walking quietly through 
apparently safe trenches, maybe dreaming of 
your loved ones at home, when a bullet thuds 
into the trench wall a few feet from your head, 
insolently spattering mud into your face. Then 
you know you are alive only by the grace of 
God and the poor aim of the German. 

But, despite these risks, all take the chance 
of going overland to lessen a quarter-mile trip 
by one hundred yards, or to miss a particu- 
larly muddy bit of trench. Any day you choose 
when you are five or six hundred yards from 
the front line you may see scattered parties 
of men crossing in the open. 

The regimental aid post of the Canadi- 
an Battalion in October, 1916, when they were 
doing their tour in the lines, could be reached 
in two ways — one by trench, a roundabout 
route of over a mile ; the other one-half mile by 
trench and one-quarter overland. The former 
route was never employed, except on regular 
relief days, officers and men passing daily the 

25 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

one-quarter mile overland, only about six hun- 
dred yards from the enemy front line. The 
field ambulance stretcher bearers made the 
trip twice daily, and one day when I was cross- 
ing over with their sergeant I asked him why 
the German snipers did not hit us. 

"Oh, 'Heiny' is too busy keeping himself 
out of sight to notice us," was the careless re- 
ply. But at times those crossing this space 
heard a bullet whistling nearby, or ping-thud- 
ding into the ground close to their feet! 

After a raid by our troops one early win- 
ter's morning when I had been attending the 
wounded for some time I came up to take a 
breath of air. A trench led from this cellar 
of mine some two thousand yards to a village 
of reasonable safety, but the road cut off two 
or three hundred yards of that distance. This 
road was in plain sight of the Germans, yet 
some of our wounded Tommies, walking cases, 
were leading a crowd of five or six wounded 
Huns by the road, the party altogether num- 
bering ten or twelve. As we watched them, 
suddenly, within a few yards of them, burst 
two shells. All the men broke into a double 

26 



OVERLAND 

and jumped into a trench beside the road while 
a few more shells fell about. It is an ironical 
truth that the only members of the party hit 
were three of the Germans. 

On a certain relief day when food was 
scarce a medical officer started for a Y. M. C. 
A. canteen in Neuville St. Vaast for some 
chocolate, taking a short cut overland, as he 
could save one hundred yards by this route. 
Meeting a soldier he stopped to inquire as to 
direction, and this saved the life of the officer, 
for a shell struck the ground a few feet ahead 
on the spot where he would have been had he 
not stopped. As he and the Tommy hugged 
a tree nearby two more shells struck the same 
spot, sprinkling them with earth. They turned 
and ran in the direction from which the doctor 
had come, amidst the roars of laughter of 
some soldiers in a trench at the sight of the 
rather corpulent form of the medical officer 
on the double; so little is thought out there 
of narrow escapes ! And when the officer made 
the same trip in the dusk of evening he found 
that the canteen had run out of chocolate! 

In what had once been a little village, but 
27 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

was now a mass of ruins, the trenches ran 
through the streets. Our mess was situated in 
the cellar of a house to which we could get 
either in a roundabout way by trench, or by 
crossing a road overland. No one ever dreamed 
of going any other route than the overland, 
despite the fact that the road was in plain view 
of the Germans who had fixed on it a machine- 
gun with which they now and then swept it 
from end to end. I admit frankly that I never 
crossed that road without a sigh of relief when 
I reached the other side. 

It was on a Christmas day. I started out to 
make an inspection of my lines with my sani- 
tary sergeant and a runner who knew the best 
routes. Arriving at a support trench, and 
wishing to go to the firing line, the guide start- 
ed over the parapet. On being asked the pur- 
pose he said that it was a much shorter way, 
but, to my relief, the sergeant told him to 
go by trench, for often one would rather go 
through a dangerous zone than appear afraid 
of it in the presence of his men. 

However, we made the examination of the 
lines. After we had finished the firing line and 

28 



OVERLAND 

were returning, we found ourselves crossing 
overland by the route over which he had at- 
tempted to take us to the front. He had led 
us up a gradually ascending communication 
trench, and so unknown to us had reached this 
overland trail. Nothing happened, nothing 
was said about it, but I certainly felt re- 
lieved when I was once again in a trench with- 
out having a German bullet sneaking between 
my ribs. How little Tommy cares about risk- 
ing his life if it lessens his task! 

In passing, it may be mentioned that on this 
Christmas day none of that fraternizing took 
place which had taken place the previous 
Christmas. In fact, early on the Christmas 
morning the battalion on our left, after a se- 
vere bombardment, put on a raid, and Christ- 
mas night the enemy retaliated with heavy stuff 
of all kinds. Probably this is as it should be, 
for while it may look well in print to read of 
our troops and the Germans exchanging ciga- 
rettes and eatables in No Man's Land, it is det- 
rimental to discipline, and injurious to the best 
fighting spirit. It would be much more repug- 
nant to the Anglo-Saxon at any rate to kill men 

29 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

with whom he had just passed a pleasant so- 
cial half hour. This may appear heartless, 
but war is a heartless game, and fraternizing 
may very well be left until after the peace ar- 
ticles are signed. 



CHAPTER IV 

KELLY 

KELLY is my batman or personal serr- 
ant. 

His name tells his nationality. His phil- 
osophy, especially as regards the war, is 
usually interesting and always instructive. 
Yesterday he accompanied me to headquarters 
out in front of the railway line at Vimy. We 
had to cross a few hundred yards in the open, 
where the Huns had an annoying habit of 
dropping shells at irregular moments. 

Suddenly we heard the horrible shriek of an 
approaching whizz-bang. It passed over our 
heads and banged into the earth twenty feet 
or so beyond us. Knowing that others would 
probably follow it, and that they might have 
twenty feet less of a range, we jumped into a 
four-foot-deep shell hole which happily was be- 
side us. We hugged affectionately the Ger- 
man side of the hole to take advantage of what- 

31 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

ever protection it afforded. One after another, 
in rapid succession, three more of these shells 
shrieked toward us. Fortunately our unut- 
tered prayer that they would not come to 
see us in our hole was answered, for they fol- 
lowed the first and struck twenty or twenty- 
five feet past us, just close enough to sprinkle 
us well with mud. While we waited a few 
more minutes to see if any more were coming, 
I turned over and faced Kelly. 

"Don't you think, Kelly," I asked seriously, 
"that lying in a shellhole like this is rather an 
undignified position for two proud Anglo- 
Saxons?" 

"No doubt it is, sor, but it's a good dale 
safer than stayin' where we wor. An' if there's 
one sound, Cap'n, that I've larned to rispict 
more than another in this war, it's the shriek 
of an oncomin' shell, whin it sames to be comin' 
in yer direction. Now, duds (shells that fail 
to explode) is different. D'ye remember, sor, 
the day we come in to relave the 28th Battalion 
here, as the colonel, the adjutant, and yersilf 
were comin' over the crest of the ridge, an' 
I bringin' up the rear with that luggage of 

32 



KELLY 

yours?" He looked at me reproachfully, for, 
though looking after my luggage was part of 
his duties, he never pretended to like it. "A 
dud landed just besoide us. The sound of a 
dud thuddin' into the earth nearboy one is 
swater to me than ever was the gurglin' of a 
brook on a June day down the banks of the 
Lakes of Killarney." 

Kelly's advice is often worth taking, for he 
has been out there well into his second year, 
and, while he has not yet been wounded, no 
one ever accused him of lack of courage. He 
occasionally does things with a slight, almost 
imperceptible, grimace of pained surprise. But 
he always does them — when ordered. In my 
early days I was prone at times to take a peep 
over the front line parapet at the always in- 
teresting No Man's Land. 

"Oi wouldn't do too much of that if Oi was 
you, docthor," he said respectfully, though at 
the time I thought there was also a trace of 
pity in his brogue, "fer out here it's not con- 
sidered healthy. Me poor ould father, Lord 
have mercy on him, always tould me to curb 
me curiosity. An' a padre who had been here 

33 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

a long toime tould me whin first Oi come that 
his one bit of advoice to me was, don't be curi- 
ous." I always encouraged him to carry on 
with his philosophizing, except when the dull 
look in his eye and his exaggerated stand-at- 
attention told me that he had somehow ob- 
tained my rum ration as well as his own. "Oi 
notice, sor, that thim that are here longest 
peep the laist; that's why they are here long- 
est." 

"Do you dodge when you hear a shell com- 
ing, Kelly?" 

"It's always woise to duck, sor, fer with very 
big shells, which come slower, ye may be quick 
enough to get aginst the soide of the trinch 
and have the pieces miss ye; an', whin it's a 
whizz-bang er bullet, if ye're able to duck ye 
know ye're not hit!" 

Just at dusk of a warm spring evening as 
we crossed an open field, we had the misfor- 
tune to find ourselves bracketed by German 
gas shells. That is, some of the shells were 
falling just short of us, and others were pass- 
ing a little over us. We recognized that they 
were gas shells by the whirring noise they 

34 



KELLY 

make going through the air and by the soft 
thudding sound of their explosion. But, had 
we had any doubt, that sweetish, though well 
hated, pineapple odor of the gas was reaching 
our nostrils. The previous evening we had had 
for some hours a heavy gas shelling about our 
aid post, during much of which we were either 
strangling from the gas fumes, which made 
some of the men dreadfully ill, or we were 
smothering to death with our gas masks on, 
doing dressings for wounded men. So, taking 
all this into consideration, we had no desire 
for a repetition of the dose. 

The shells were thudding into the earth 
about seventy or eighty yards on either side 
of us, and our dangers were two: a straight 
hit by one of the shells, the result of which 
would be mutilation or death; or the bursting 
of one at our feet, as the inhalation by us of 
such concentrated fumes might mean a little 
wooden cross above us. 

Behind the lines the gas masks or respira- 
tors are worn flung over the shoulder. In the 
lines the rule is to wear them in the "alert" 
position, that is, on the front of the chest with 

35 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

the flap open, ready for instant use. We had 
them in this position and were carrying the 
apparatus in our hands, so as to be able to in- 
sert the tube into the mouth rapidly if need be. 
Had we adjusted them at once we should have 
found it difficult to avoid falling into the nu- 
merous shellholes, for seeing through the gog- 
gles on a dusky evening is most unsatisfactory. 
My companion's practiced eye noted that the 
shells, while bracketing us, were falling much 
more thickly on our right than on our left. 
After he had drawn my attention to this we 
turned quickly to the left, and we had the good 
fortune soon to be well away from the explo- 
sions — it need hardly be remarked, to our in- 
tense relief. 

"That was a happy observation of yours, 
Kelly,' 5 I remarked when we were out of dan- 
ger, and were literally breathing easily again. 

"Dunno but what it was, sor. Course a man 
shouldn't need a wall to fall on him to know 
that somethin's comin' his way." I could al- 
most see his sly squint in my direction. He 
dearly loved to display his hard-earned knowl- 
edge, and, as he was too valuable a man to 

36 



KELLY 

get angry with except for good reason, his 
remarks were generally accepted good na- 
turedly. 

Kelly is a strict disciplinarian, at least so 
far as others are concerned. While he takes 
liberties in passing his own opinions to me, he 
resents any other private doing likewise. In 
his presence one day at a sick parade a soldier 
who had been marked by me, M & D — medicine 
and duty, that is, given medicine but fit for 
duty — muttered something to the effect that 
one never gets a fair deal from a military doc- 
tor anyway. Before I could reprimand him 
Kelly hustled him out of the room, saying an- 
grily: 

"Begobs, ye may have been exposed to dis- 
cipline, but it niver took." In his insistence on 
everyone else's carrying out all the laws of 
military discipline, while breaking most of 
them himself, he is the equal of almost any 
officer. 

On a delightful spring day after the Battle 
of Arras, our battalion was holding the front 
line out beyond Thelus. My aid post was on a 
sunken road near Willerval, one of the many 

37 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

sunken roads which are talked about by anyone 
who has ever been at the front. The wounded 
had to be brought to us by stretcher bearers 
at night, as the whole front here was a huge 
salient with the Huns pumping lead forget- 
me-nots from three sides by day on the least 
exposure of our men. 

So our work was all night work, and I lay 
lazily on a stretcher in an abandoned German 
gunpit, taking a sun bath. There originally 
had been a roof over this gunpit. It was made 
up of one-inch boards laid carelessly across 
steel supports, and in the remains of this roof 
two little swallows were gaily chirping, love- 
making, and nest-building for their family-to- 
be, ignoring entirely man's inhumanity to man. 
Kelly was sitting on his haunches, his gray 
head held on one side, thoughtfully watching 
these happy little birds. 

"Well, Kelly," I demanded, "of what are 
you dreaming?" 

"I was jest thinkin', docthor,"Tie answered, 
without turning his head, "what a puny sinse 
of humor man has in comparison with thim 
swallows yonder." 

38 



KELLY 

"Have swallows a sense of humor, Kelly?" 

"Have they a sinse of humor? Whoy, they're 
laughin' at ye this very minute" ; I turned my 
head a trifle sharply in his direction; "an* at 
me, an' the rist of humanity. Listen to thim 
laugh. An' whoy shouldn't they laugh, whin 
they think what a gay world they live in, with 
room fer all of thim an' all of us; an' yet 
whoile they live, an' love, an' have their young, 
an' doie in peace, we min, wid the brains of 
gods, so we say, spind our toime invintin' new 
manes of killin' aich other? An' fer whoy? 
For a few acres of bog land, fer the privilege 
of christianizin' an' chatin' the haithin by givin' 
him some glass beads in exchange fer his iv'ry, 
an' his indy rubber, an' his spoices. Take a 
look yander at that skoylark. Wouldn't he 
do yer heart good?" 

And he pointed to where one of those joy- 
giving birds was soaring "higher still and 
higher," and lavishly pouring out upon an un- 
grateful world his flood of harmony divine. 

"What about liberty as opposed to this 
cursed German militarism?" 

"Oh, yis, Oi'll admit there's a bit o' truth 
39 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

in that, but at bottom it's mostly commerce 
that causes war. Yis, Oi shouldn't loike to have 
the Prushin military heel on moy neck. God 
knows the Englishman in his toime has left 
a heel mark or two on the Oirishman's neck, 
but at that Oi'd rather have him, especially of 
late years, than that cursed Hun, fer he wears 
nails in his boots. An' Oi've hated the Eng- 
lishman all me loife " 

"What the devil did you come out here for 
anyway, Kelly?" 

" Ye're the first person that's ever hinted t'me 
that there's anythin' proivate about this f oight. 
Ain't the Russhin, an' the Prushin, an' the 
Frinch, an' the Eyetalian, an' aven the Turk 
in this f oight? Is there any just raisin whoy 
an Oirishman shouldn't butt in, too?" he asked 
in an injured tone. "But ye've intherrupted 
me strain of thought." 

"Beg pardon." 

"Don't mintion it. Oi was goin' to say that, 
though Oi've hated the Englishman all me loife, 
Oi'd be afeard to live in his counthry, fer Oi'd 
get to love him. He's got such a dape sinse 
of humor. Whoy he praises ye Canadians till 

40 



KELLY 

he actially makes ye belaive ye're winnin' the 
war, wid yer two or three hundred thousand 
min, whoile he's got a couple of million in the 
field." 

"Who took Vimy Ridge, Kelly?" 
"We did, sor, we Canadians, wid fifty to 
sixty percint of British born loike mesilf . An' 
a damn foine bit o' fightin' it was, too. Sure, 
truly, sor, Oi wouldn't belittle it fer anythin\ 
But Vimy Ridge is on'y a couple o' miles long, 
an' British troops are defindin' somethin' loike 
a hundred and fifty moiles, an' most o' that 
is held boy English troops, wid a scatthering 
of the hated Oirish and Scotch. Look at the 
casialty lists over a period an' ye'll foind who 
it is that's doyin' fer liberty. It's mostly the 
English and the Frinch as fer as Oi kin see. 
The Canadians have done nobly, sor, no one 
could denoy it, but they mustn't think they're 
winnin' the war all boy thimselves. 

"The las' toime Oi was in Lon'on, the fun- 
niest comedy Oi seen was a couple of young 
Canadian officers on a bus tellin' an edicated 
Englishman how the Empire should be run. 
An* the Englishman listened without aven 

41 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

crackin' a smoile, whoile they criticoized Lon- 
'on fer not havin' a straight street, an' fer 
havin' old-fashioned busses; an' Lide George 
fer his lack of firmness wid Oireland; an' so 
on, an' so on. An' the Englishman listened 
as if they were the woise min o' the aist, bowin' 
his assint to all their talk; an' at last he said, 
wid a long face: 

" 'There's no doubt you young gintlemen 
are roight. If we had a few more min loike 
the Hon, Mr. Hughes of Australia an' Sir 
Sam Hughes of Canada, we'd be in better 
shape now. Oi'm very happy to have met yez\ 

"An' he shook their hands an' left, whoile 
they swallied what he said, bait, hook, loine, 
an' all. So Oi slips up to thim, an' salutin', Oi 
says: 

" 'Beggin' yer pardon, sors,' says Oi, 'but Oi 
happin to know who that man was. It was 
Lord Rothchoild, the great international bank- 
er.' It may have bin the Imperor of Choina, 
fer all Oi know. But they swallied that, too, 
an' ignorin' me, one says, 'An' he shook hands 
wid us!' an' on their faces was a bland smoile 
of choild-loike satisfaction. 

42 



KELLY 

"Oh, ye Canadians are great snobs, so ye 
are. Whoy Oi've heard yersilf laud to the 
skoies the noble part taken in the war be the 
blue-bloods of England. Sure ye're just as 
big a snob as any of the others. Er — Oi — Oi 
beg per pardon, sor, Oi'm sorry fer savin' it." 

"How about thinking it?" 

"The on'y thing Oi kin call me own since Oi 
jined the army are me thoughts. But Oi 
wouldn't think it aginst yer wishes fer the 
world, sor," and he smiled slyly. "Oi agree 
that the blue-bloods have fought well, but no 
better than the rist of us. An' they have some- 
thin' to foight fer, whoile Oi'd like to ask ye 
what has a poor divil loike me to foight fer? 
Who'd support moy childer if Oi was kilt?" 

"Your children! I didn't know you were 
married." 

"Who said Oi was married?" 

"Oh!" 

"All classes out here foight well. Oi agree 
wid that writer who said that all min are aloike 
except fer their close. Now, except fer our 
close, Oi don't suppose anyone would be able 

43 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

to tell which was the cap'n, an* which his serv- 
ant" ; with another sly grin. 

"Probably not, except for the whiskey you 
drink." 

"Oi may drink a slightly greater amount 
than ye, sor, but Oi notice we drink the same 
brand." 

"Yes, I've noticed that, too, Kelly. That's 
why there's never any to offer any of my 
friends when they call." 

"Oi assure ye, docthor, there's none of it 
wasted." 

"Probably not, from your standpoint. Now, 
Kelly, I'd like some tea. And see if you can 
put a little less candle, currants, and sand in 
it than you did this morning." 

"If ye'd lave the last half inch in the bot- 
tom of yer cup, sor, ye'd never know there 
was anythin' but tea in it"; and he left to pre- 
pare as good a cup of tea as one could desire, 
except for these extras which a paternal quar- 
termaster always inserts into the various ar- 
ticles of diet. Of course, the fact that the tea 
and sugar come in sandbags, and the candles 

44 



KELLY 

are put into the sugar to prevent breaking 
them, adds to this complication. 

Kelly is a good cook, and no mean philos- 
opher. He continually emphasizes the impor- 
tance of what he calls, "a sinse of humor." One 
night when he had taken too much of what 
he called at various times, "the crather," "hu- 
mor producer," "potheen," or "honey dew," I 
heard him say to a companion: 

"As me frind, Lord Norfolk, says, there 
remain these three, faith, hope, and charity, 
and the greatest of these is a sinse of humor." 

A day came when Kelly, going for water 
with two old gasoline cans slung over his shoul- 
der, was struck by a shell. He was some seven 
hundred yards from my aid post at the time. 
Fortunately some stretcher bearers nearby 
went to his aid. Though the shortest way out 
was rearward, and well he knew it, he in- 
sisted on being carried back "to explain his 
absince to the docthor." I saw them bringing 
him in, and ran to him for, in spite of any 
faults, his never-failing loyalty and his good- 
humored and faithful service had endeared him 
to me. He had been covered by a coat of a 

45 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

stretcher bearer, so I could not see at once 
what his injuries were. 

" Where have you been hit, Kelly?" I de- 
manded anxiously, for his face was pale. 

"Do ye mane, sor, anatomically, or jayo- 
graphically?" and a wan smile lit up the pallid 
face, as his quick-witted humor got the better 
of his suffering. But I had taken the coat 
away, and I saw that the wound was fatal. 
Keeping my head low so that he could not see 
the expression on my face, or the tears in 
my eyes, I gently dressed the wound. He bore 
the handling without flinching. As I finished 
he said bravely: 

"Well, docthor, they've done fer me this 
toime. Oh, ye naydent throy to hoide it from 
me; Oi know; an* Oi'd not care to have on'y 
half of me hoppin' about, anyway." 

"Oh, we'll pull you through, Kelly, old man. 
You promised to be my chauffeur after the 
war; but I know you never did like working 
for me and now you're trying to dodge," and 
I tried to smile, but he saw the tears running 
down my cheeks. 

"None o' yer jokes, now, docthor. Oi know 
46 



KELLY 

it's all over wid me. And, raly, it don't mat- 
ther, fer there's no one that cares," and, as I 
looked at him reproachfully, "except you, sor. 
An' God knows whoy ye do, fer I've been but 
an impident servant to ye. But, docthor," 
looking at me imploringly, "ye forgive me now, 
don't ye, fer it was on'y taisin' Oi was?" 

"Dear old Kelly," I said, as I pressed his 
cold hand, "what have I to forgive? You're 
the best friend I have in all France." A lump 
in my throat prevented me from saying more. 
His hand returned the pressure, but there was 
no strength in it Then to cheer me up, he 
said: 

"Ye know, cap'n, Oi always did respict the 
cross, in the abshtract, of course, since Oi knelt 
at the knees of me poor ould mother, rest her 
soul ; but Oi niver had any great desire to look 
up at one of thim little wooden crosses through 
six fate of earth," and the paling face lit up 
with its whimsical smile. "What's worryin' me 
though, is who'll look after yersilf. Ye're such 
a crank about how yer bacon's cooked, an' the 

sand in the tay, an' " but just at that mo- 

47 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

ment the padre came in from a neighboring 
battalion headquarters. 

He had made me promise that if ever any- 
thing should happen to the wayward Kelly 
who should have been, but wasn't, a regular 
attendant at his church parades, I should send 
at once for him. I had done so as soon as I 
saw that poor Kelly was hard hit. I laid 
Kelly's hand gently down and slipped away. 
I was called hurriedly back a few minutes later 
by the padre. 

"He wants you, doctor," he said briefly. 

Kelly's eyes met mine. His were getting 
dim. As I took his hand, his fingers feebly 
gripped mine. I bent my head to catch the 
whispered words that issued from his lips: 

"Good-by, docthor; Oi'm lavin' fer the 
great beyant. There's no use grumblin' an' 
Oi don't, fer Oi've had a full loife — me frinds 
often said too full, but sure they didn't know," 
with the faint smile. "But since that day whin 
ye showed me the picture ye carry over yer 
heart of yer three foine little byes — God bliss 
thim — Oi've wanted, whin the war was over, to 

48 



KELLY 

go back wid ye and see thim. Will ye do me a 
favor, docthor, boy?" 

His voice was growing feeble. The tears 
were flowing unheeded down my cheeks. I 
could not speak, so I squeezed his hand in as- 
sent. "Will ye talk td thim sometimes of 
Kelly? An' tell thim that wid all me faults Oi 
loved their daddy an' troied to sarve him well; 
an' that if Oi was sure me death would cause ye 
to be taken safely back to thim, Oi'd doie 
happy an' contint. God bless ye an' thim 

an' " His voice died away, his dim eyes 

closed, and his soul passed into "that undiscov- 
ered bourne from which no traveler returns." 

That night the padre and I buried him in 
a shellhole, erecting over his grave a little 
wooden cross on which we wrote: 

PRIVATE JAMES KELLY 

Number A59000, 

— st Canadian Battalion. 

A loyal, generous, faithful, 

SOLDIER AND FRIEND 



CHAPTER V 

THE LANGUAGE OF THE LINE 

TALLEYRAND once wittily said that 
language was given us to hide our 
thoughts, and this saying might be enlarged by 
adding that slang was given us to hide our lan- 
guage. The Frenchman, in making this witti- 
cism, was referring not only to the beautiful 
language of Corneille and Moliere, but to 
speech in general. However, if he visited the 
lines of the Canadian or British troops today, 
even though his knowledge of English were 
perfect, he would hear many words and expres- 
sions not found in the dictionaries of any coun- 
try or heard in polite society. 

Necessity is the mother of invention. It 
seems that in all national or international 
games, such as the sport of our American al- 
lies — baseball — or the sport of kings and em- 
perors — war — necessity demands that a special 
language shall evolve. And so, around each 

50 



THE LANGUAGE OF THE LINE 

and in the midst of each, an expressive, though 
sometimes inelegant, slang has grown up, un- 
derstood and employed only by the initiated. 
In the case of the present war this slang is 
made up of a mixture of English, French, pan- 
tomime, and American or Canadian. 

Some people give North America credit for 
a language of its own. On a visit to Paris some 
years ago I was passing the entrance of a 
theater on the Boulevard des Capucines when 
a grisette approached me with a "bon soir, 
cheri" ; and proceeded to ask if I were lonely. 
Not desiring to be bothered, I replied shortly 
that I did not speak French. 

"Oh, zat ees tres bien, monsieur," she re- 
plied coyly, "I spik zee A-mer-ee-can. ,> 

And many of our own brothers of the moth- 
erland do not admit that we Canadians speak 
the same language as they, but an accented 
modification of it, though they admire the 
pointedness of many of our expressions. I 
well remember the amusement caused in an 
English officers' mess by one of them telling 
the others that he had heard a Canadian say 
that he liked "the Englishman's accent." And 

51 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

with that charmingly bantering way that Eng- 
lishmen have, he said with a smile to a couple 
of us Canadians present : 

"Rawtha a jolly bit of side! Cawnt you see 
it, you priceless old things?" And at his re- 
quest we all filled our glasses again ; while one 
of the Canadians, for the sake of argument, ex- 
pressed the opinion that the term accent might 
as truly be applied to the Englishman's 
"rawtha," as to our rather; or to the English 
"bawth," as to our harder-sounding and not 
so euphonious, but probably equally correct 
pronunciation of the word, bath. Of course, 
he was met by good-natured smiles of toler- 
ance and pity, and the reply that since we 
think their pronunciation shows more euphony, 
why do we not pronounce as they do? 

"Because if we did someone at home would 
probably hand us an over-ripe egg" was the 
answer. 

The slang of the lines resembles a new sys- 
tem of Esperanto, since it takes in, in a cosmo- 
politan manner, all the languages of the neigh- 
borhood, as well as some whose existence may 
be doubted. For example, "no bon" means 

52 



THE LANGUAGE OF THE LINE 

no good, and is a mixture of English, French, 
and a disgusted look. 

"Na poo" (which is probably a mutilated 
form of the French "il n'y en a plus," — there 
is no more) has a most versatile meaning, and 
is used in many different senses. Sometimes 
it signifies that some article of the rations is 
finished, as "the rum is na poo" — a not un- 
common state of affairs. At other times it is 
used as we employ the slang phrase, "nothing 
doing." 

For instance, one man asks another 
to have a drink, and he, having put himself, 
or having been put, on the Indian list, replies, 
"na poo for mine." Then there is the sense in 
which it is used meaning "killed." Bill Jones 
is killed, and somebody says, "Well, they na 
poo'd Bill Jones last night. Poor Bill, he 

wasn't such a bad old after all." 

( In the air service, when a man is killed, they 
often employ the expression that "so-and-so is 
gone east.") The above will illustrate, but by 
no means exhaust, the versatility of "na poo," 
for in variety of meaning it is almost in a class 
by itself. 

53 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

"Compree" is another sample of broken — 
one could not say Anglicized — French, and it 
is employed with the signification, "do you 
understand?" or, in slang-Canadian, "do you 
get me, Steve?" And here it may be remarked 
that a Tommy possessing the above three ex- 
pressions, na poo, no bon, and compree, with 
some additions from the sign language, al- 
though he knows no other word of French, is 
able to do anything with the French peasant 
from using his cook-stove to heat a tin of 
pork and beans to making love to his daugh- 
ter. Of course the latter effort is no doubt 
helped by the fact that love is much the same 
in all languages. 

Then all the different shells and types of 
trench-mortar ammunition have their nick- 
names, such as pineapples, rum jars, flying 
pigs, Jack Johnsons, fish tails, and whizz- 
bangs, all according to their shape, their sound, 
or the fuss they make when landing. 

"To put on a show," is to make an attack 
on the enemy. "To get pipped" means to get 
wounded. If the wound is severe enough to 
cause the recipient to be sent to England, it 

54 



THE LANGUAGE OF THE LINE 

is called a "Blighty," in which case, if the 
wound is not dangerous to life or limb, the 
others stand about looking enviously at the 
wounded man, and telling him he is a lucky 
devil. But if the wound is fatal, they say "he 
got his R. I. P." 

The above will serve to illustrate the more 
common slang phrases used by the soldier and 
officer alike, for what Tommy does today his 
officers do tomorrow. There are, of course, 
many other slang expressions, some being more 
vulgar than expressive. Occasionally a group 
of men will impress you with the idea that 
they are so accustomed to slang and swearing 
that to call each other "a blank liar" is a 
password, as Kelly expressed it to me one 
time. And in passing it may be said that 
though words which would be fighting words in 
western Canada are common enough, fighting 
among the men is exceedingly uncommon. 
Good nature and good fellowship are univer- 
sal, and it is rare indeed that even the hottest 
argument leads to blows. Probably the boys 
have instinctively decided that blows are for 
your enemies, not for your friends, and that 

55 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

fighting enough is to be had on the other side 
of No Man's Land. 

But slang, swearing, or general "tough- 
ness" is no proof that a man is not an excellent 
soldier. Out there we have found that cool 
courage and self-sacrifice are as common 
among the denizens of the slum or the em- 
ployees of the workshop or factory as among 
those who spend their time following the 
hounds or adorning drawing-rooms. Educa- 
tion and culture may develop the virtues, but 
they do not create them. By the same token 
poor or unhealthy surroundings may stultify 
the same virtues, but do not kill them. 

I well recall a rough, uneducated, Irish- 
Canadian boy from Griffintown, who was in 
charge of a group of machine-gunners, and 
-who was afraid of nothing on the earth, under 
the earth or over the earth. Fagan — that 
name will do as well as another — went up with 
his company to go over the top in an attack, 
but at the last moment they were ordered not 
to advance. A company of Oxford and Bucks 
just to Fagan's right were going over, and he, 
being disappointed at the cancellation of his 

56 



THE LANGUAGE OF THE LINE 

order, pretended that he had not received it, 
joined the British with his section and went 
into the fight with them. He was such a bon- 
nie fighter, and was so useful to the British 
that they were loud in their praises of the work 
of him and his men ; for with his machine-gun 
he did much useful slaughter which he de- 
scribed on his return as "some beautiful pick- 
ing" 

On account of his good work and the high 
praise that it received from the British he was 
given a special leave of a couple of weeks 
to the white lights — or what remains of them 
— in London. As he left his little group of 
the men of his unit, all of whom loved him 
and all of whom his generous, brave heart held 
as brothers, instead of the usual "Good-by, 
boys, and good luck," he turned to them with 
a broad grin on his face and said : 

"To hell wid yez all! May yez have to go 
over the top every damn noight whoile Oi'm 
away;" and with a wave of the hand, and 
amidst the laughter of his "byes," he started 
for the railhead. 

But slangy sayings and swearing are not 
57 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

limited in use to the boys. A Major Garwell 
was somewhat noted for this habit, and some- 
times spat out remarks quite thoughtlessly in 
company in which it were better he had not 
done so. On one occasion he had to interview 
a staid, dignified Major General Osborne of 
an English Corps to our left, and, differing in 
opinion with the latter, to the horror of the 
other officers present, he exclaimed vehemently 
without even knowing that he said it: 

"But, damn your eyes, Osborne, that trench 
should run the other way." 

To everyone's surprise the Major General 
only stared at him, seeing no doubt that it was 
a slip of the tongue, and not intentional dis- 
respect. He also probably took into account 
the fact that the Major was a Canadian, from 
whom Englishmen hardly ever know what to 
expect in the line of discipline. 

But a week later the English General 
showed that beneath a serious and dignified ex- 
terior he had a well-developed sense of humor. 
He was again discussing some engineering 
problem with our gallant Major before much 

58 



THE LANGUAGE OF THE LINE 

the same group of officers, and turning sud- 
denly he blurted out : 

"But, damn your eyes, Garwell, I want this 
done my way." The General himself and even 
Garwell joined in the roar of laughter which 
followed. And now you have the reason that 
from that day to this the Canadian Major is 
always spoken of as "damn-your-eyes-Gar- 
well," 



CHAPTER VI 

JUST LOOKING ABOUT 

AT the front you never need to go beyond 
the day on which you write to find things 
of interest to tell those who have not known 
the life, who are so unfortunate as to have to 
remain hundreds, or perhaps thousands, of 
miles from the center of interest in the great- 
est game the world has ever known — the game 
of war — being played at this moment by all 
the highly cultured, civilized, and refined peo- 
ples of the world! 

It is a bright spring day in May, 1917, 
for so-called Sunny France is trying to redeem 
herself after an abominable winter. I am sit- 
ting on a tin biscuit box at the entrance of my 
R.A.P. — regimental aid post — just on the 
outskirts of a ruined village. Had I taken 
this position one month ago my stay in the 
land of the living would have lasted some- 
thing under ten minutes, for then the German 

60 



JUST LOOKING ABOUT 

front line was about three hundred yards away. 
But since that time the Battle of Vimy Ridge 
has come and gone, and the Germans are 
pushed back well beyond the ridge. So it is 
comparatively safe to sit here, for the only dan- 
ger is from a stray shell, as it happens at the 
moment the Huns are too busy defending 
themselves from a heavy assault from the Ca- 
nadians on our right to send any shells this 
way. 

This morning a number of villages oppo- 
site our right front are to be taken, and as 
I sit looking about our guns are firing so con- 
tinuously that they make what the boys calj 
drumfire, that is, a continuous roll such as 
kettledrums make. Our artillery is so immense 
in numbers of guns that drumfire is common by 
day. By night the sky on the horizon is lit up 
in all directions by the repeated flashes of the 
guns, giving the appearance of an immense fire- 
works exhibition. 

All about me are the signs of war. I am 
looking toward a mass of ruins which occupy 
the site of what was once a well-built and pros- 
perous little city. All that now remains of it 

61 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

is a stone wall here and there, and everywhere 
piles of stone and brick and mortar. Not one 
roof remains. There on the left, that high pile 
of demolished walls, is all that exists of a once 
elaborate church. Amidst the ruins the cellars 
are occupied as habitations for the troops. If 
you wander among them you will see some 
strange names given to their quarters by the 
wags of the companies — such names as The 
Devil's Inn, Home Sweet Home, The Savoy, 
The Sister Susie Hotel, and other such de- 
vices. 

But there is one object amongst the ruins 
that strikes my eye. It is two hundred yards 
from where I am seated. It appears plainly 
to be the shattered trunk of a tree, two feet 
in diameter and twenty feet in height. It is 
the largest in the vicinity of those that remain 
to wave their withered and emaciated arms in 
mocking derision at our so-called civilization. 

Let us walk across to it together. Until we 
are almost touching it we recognize nothing 
but a shattered tree-trunk. On closer inspec- 
tion we find that what appeared to be the bark 
is only a good paper imitation of bark, and 

62 



JUST LOOKING ABOUT 

its irregular upper end has been made by hand, 
not, as we had supposed, by the impact of a 
shell. Behind the tree, at its root, is a pas- 
sageway down which we go to find ourselves 
actually entering the trunk through a small 
door. Looking up we see a perfectly made 
steel cylinder, up which steps lead to the top. 
Here a seat is placed and an observer may 
look through a small slit in the steel casing and 
through a split in the imitation bark, getting 
a good view of things far in advance. 

This is the explanation of this strange af- 
fair: A large tree which stood upon this spot 
had been shattered by a shell, the shattering 
having taken place when the Germans held 
Vimy Ridge. This shattered tree was only 
four hundred yards from the enemy front line. 
Months before the Battle of Vimy Ridge some 
quick-minded engineer noticed this tree, and 
the idea occurred that it could be utilized to 
good advantage. The steel frame was made 
and covered in exact imitation of the tree 
trunk, all other arrangements made, and one 
night the tree was removed and this counter- 
feit of it was put up. When day broke an ob- 

63 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

server was sitting comfortably in this strange 
observation post looking out upon the enemy 
trenches, watching the movements of the Ger- 
mans, at the same time being safe from any 
danger except the straight hit of a shell. 

Now let us return to our biscuit box and 
see what else there is of interest. All about 
are sitting boys with red crosses on their 
sleeves. They are stretcher bearers for a field 
ambulance. Here and there is a gun position 
from which a bang and a flash come spasmod- 
ically, as the guns throw their lead and steel 
souvenirs at the Germans. To our right as we 
face the enemy lines is a much used road, up 
which we can see motor lorries by the score 
pouring forward their loads of ammunition. 
Then there are packmules, motor cyclists, am- 
bulances and — a strange sight — cavalry are go- 
ing forward. 

Is the war changing from the old trench war- 
fare of the past three years into open warfare 
of the past century? Ah! There is still an- 
other sight, and a pleasant one. It is a group 
of German prisoners going to the rear, guard- 
ed by a couple of Tommies. Word comes back 

64 



JUST LOOKING ABOUT 

that the attack which began some hours ago, 
and at which the guns are still mumbling and 
rumbling in anger, has been a success ; the ob- 
jectives have been reached and many prisoners 
taken, though the Huns are making a stiff 
stand of it. 

Overhead aeroplanes are humming to and 
fro, looking far in advance of our troops, see- 
ing the effects of our gunfire, signaling in- 
structions to our artillery, watching the move- 
ments of the enemy, and generally acting as 
the eyes of the army. 

In front of us, and to the left, is a crater — 
an immense hollow in the ground, caused by 
the explosion by the enemy or ourselves at 
some earlier stage of the war, of a huge load of 
dynamite, ammonal or some other high explo- 
sive. This crater is situated in what was No 
Man's Land before April 9 and the great push, 
at which time it was used as a killing place for 
our enemies. Now it is a burial place for our 
friends. The French Government has notified 
us that if, in burying our dead, we will put the 
bodies in groups of fifty in each burial plot, 
they will buy the hallowed ground, keep it in 

65 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

repair, and present it to the British people. 
And the corps burying party has utilized Lich- 
field Crater for this purpose, has gathered to- 
gether fifty or sixty of our gallant dead, and 
deposited their sacred remains in this spot, 
erecting over the grave a large wooden cross 
with the names of the dead upon it. In lime-) 
stone they have laid out the following epi- 
taph: 

To the Brave Canadians of the Second 
Division Who Gave up Their Lives on 
April 9, 1917. 

R. I. P. 

What hallowed shrines these cemeteries of 
fifty will become after the war, when those 
whose loved ones paid their full measure of 
devotion in the cause of freedom are able to 
come to visit the deservedly honored graves of 
their husbands, fathers, sons, brothers, and 
sweethearts. I visited this little cemetery this 
morning. As I left it some Tommies passed 
with a large, red paper balloon sent across by 
the Germans with the message, "Canadians, 
we are ready to quit if you are." 

66 



JUST LOOKING ABOUT 

But the Canadians, the British, the Ameri- 
cans, or the French, are not yet ready to quit! 
Nor will they be till the day comes when Prus- 
sian militarism is curbed so thoroughly that 
your boys and mine will not have to give up 
their lives in conquering it ten years from now! 



A 



CHAPTER VII 

GASSED ! 

BOUT a month after the Canadians had 

taken Vimy Ridge we relieved the 

Canadian Battalion in the town of Vimy, where 
our battalion was in support to another bat- 
talion holding the front lines some distance in 
advance. Our Regimental Aid Post on our 
previous stay in this town had been in the cel- 
lar of a brewery near the railway station. 
Since we had left the shelling in the neighbor- 
hood had become so severe that this cellar had 
been abandoned. It had caught fire and all 
the woodwork had burned up. Out of curios- 
ity I visited this old cellar on our arrival at 
Vimy and found it still hot as hades from the 
heating up of the brick and cement. It was 
absolutely uninhabitable. So we were forced 
to search for other quarters. 

The officers of No. Canadian Field 

Ambulance, with that camaraderie so preva- 

68 



GASSED ! 

lent out there, invited us to share with them 
a couple of old cellars to which they had gone 
on deserting the brewery. We accepted glad- 
ly. One of their two cellars they used as sleep- 
ing and eating quarters, the other as a dress- 
ing station where they were kept exceedingly 
busy attending the wounded. The Germans 
had the range of Vimy to a nicety, and with 
true German love of destruction they poured 
five hundred to a thousand shells into the ruins 
daily. Whenever the Germans are driven from 
a village, their practice is to ruin it by high 
explosive shells sent from their new line of 
defense. And these two cellars were about the 
center of the Vimy target. 

The previous day two officers of the field 
ambulance were standing a few feet apart in 
a little room off from the cellar used as sleep- 
ing quarters. A table stood between them, on 
which were two lighted candles. Suddenly 
through the floor above came a four-inch shell, 
just missing the table, and sinking into the 
floor. Fortunately for the two officers it did 
not explode — it was a dud. The rush of air 
caused by the shell extinguished one of the 

69 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

candles. The other remained lighted. It may- 
be understood easily that the officers felt a 
bit unnerved. After staring at the hole in 

the floor for some moments, Captain M 

picked up the lighted candle in one hand and 
the extinguished one in the other and endeav- 
ored to light one from the other. His hands 
shook so that he could not make the candles 
meet. After a number of vain attempts to 
bring them together he gave it up. His ner- 
vous system was so shaken that he was sent 
to the rest station on two weeks' leave. 

We arrived shortly after the shell had gone 

through the cellar. Captain M himself told 

us of it, and his humorous description of his 
attempts to get the candles within six inches of 
each other was ludicrous in the extreme. 

After an appetizing supper eaten in the cel- 
lar with the officers of the field ambulance, we 
medical officers took turns attending to the 
many wounded who were arriving. All went 
well till eleven o'clock that night, when we 
heard the whirr of gas shells coming in our 
direction. As they burst close to us, we soon 
smelt their penetrating, pineapple odor. The 

70 



GASSED! 

Huns continued to pour them in large numbers 
in our direction, and, as the town of Vimy is 
in a hollow at the foot of Vimy Ridge, the 
atmosphere soon became laden with the poison 
gas which, being heavier than air, sinks to the 
bottom of any hollows. The air in our cellars 
became saturated with the filthy, death-dealing 
gases in spite of the wet blanket which we hung 
over the entrance to prevent their entering. 
Had we been able to stay in the cellar and 
keep the blanket tightly placed over the en- 
trance, our misery would have been much less, 
but wounded were coming in from all direc- 
tions and we had to keep going in and out, in 
turns, to the cellar in which we did our dress- 
ings. The gas kept thickening every minute. 
To add to the discomfort these gas shells con- 
tained two gases. One entered the lungs, caus- 
ing congestion of their tissues followed by in- 
flammation, suffocation, and death if a suf- 
ficient amount were inhaled ; the other, lachry- 
matory gas — called tear shell gas by the sol- 
diers — which not only inflames temporarily the 
conjunctiva of the eyes, but is cursedly irritat- 
ing while it lasts. 

71 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

Naturally we quickly adjusted our gas 
masks. But, as it was fifty feet from one cel- 
lar to the other, and we dared not flash lights 
to pass over the stone and mortar of the fallen 
walls, we found it necessary to remove our 
masks for moving, as well as for the purpose 
of tying up the wounds in an acceptable man- 
ner. Thus, by midnight, our eyes were as red 
as uncooked beefsteak and they felt as if they 
had been sandpapered. Our lungs on each 
respiration felt as though they were gripped 
in a closing vise. The gas masks act by filter- 
ing the inhaled air through a chemical, which 
neutralizes the poisonous materials in the gases. 
When we removed them we had severe attacks 
of coughing which were relieved only by 
breathing through the mouthpiece of the 
masks. 

Hours dragged slowly by. Still the whirr 
of approaching shells and the soft thud of their 
bursting continued. Misery? Never else- 
where had we experienced anything akin to it 
— the inflamed eyes; the suffocation in our 
lungs; the knowledge that inhalation of suf- 
ficient of the gas would put us into Kingdom 

72 



GASSED! 

Come. We knew that we could easily get out 
of this poisonous atmosphere by climbing to 
the top of Vimy Ridge, only a few hundred 
yards behind us. But we did not, for that would 
be deserting our posts. 

All these things combined to make it the 
most miserable, soul-torturing night we had 
ever experienced. And, to add to it all, our 
artillery was in a hollow nearby where the gas 
was so thick that it prevented our gunners 
from retaliating, making it all take, and no 
give. We all learned that night what it felt 
like to long to desert. We learned that there 
are timss when a man who is brave enough to 
be a coward deserves sympathy. But, thank 
God! there are few such men in our armies. 
The brave man and the coward, both, at times, 
experience the same sensation of fear, the cow- 
ard allowing the emotion to conquer him, while 
the brave man grits his teeth and carries on. 

For nearly five hours we endured this 
misery, wondering when we would have in- 
haled enough of the poison to put our names 
among the casualties. One of the strange 
things that struck me during that long night 

73 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

was that I heard no word of censure or con- 
demnation of the Germans who were the cause 
of our suffering. We cursed war in general; 
we cursed Vimy and all that pertained to it; 
we cursed the inactivity of our artillery; and 
we cursed the gases ; but the misery was taken 
as one of the fortunes of war, and no one was- 
ted his breath in vain attempts to beat the Ger- 
mans with his mouth — as Lord Roberts ex- 
pressed it at the beginning of the conflict. 
Often when I am five thousand miles away 
from the firing line, sitting, perhaps, in a smok- 
ing-car, and listening to the abuse of our en- 
emy, I think of this circumstance. 

After nearly three hours of the wretched 
gassing, I had been lying for some little time 
in the upper of two bunks, wearing my mask, 
feeling very much smothered, and wondering 
if it were pleasanter to die quickly from the gas 
or slowly from the mask. For the masks give 
a most uncomfortable feeling of impending 
suffocation. Finally, I decided that I pre- 
ferred the gas to the mask. I pulled it off, 
swore softly to myself, and muttered that I 

74 



GASSED! 

chose a quick death in preference to a slow 
one, 

"Same here, doc," said a jolly voice from 
below me. "I took off my bally mask some 
time ago, and have been lying here wondering 
how long you were going to endure it." 

Looking down I saw the smiling face of 

Captain S , a chaplain, who had been there 

the previous day, burying some of our brave 
boys who had paid the greatest price that man 
can pay. He was a most courageous chap, al- 
ways good-humored under any circumstances, 
and the gas had not lessened his courage. We 
joked for a few moments, then we tried, with- 
out success, to argue courage into a little cock- 
ney for whom this was a cruel initiation into 
the firing line, and whose "wind was up," as 
the boys express it when a man's nerve is about 
all gone. I don't know what happened to the 
little cockney in the end, but my last memory 
of him was that he was still arguing that this 
was no place for a white man, with which sen- 
timent we all agreed. Shortly we were glad 
to reapply our masks, as the air became almost 

75 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

thick enough to cut with a knife, and that vise 
on our chests kept tightening. 

Though the night seemed a thousand years 
long, it finally came to an end just as our 
nerves were at breaking point. The gas masks 
had been on our faces for the better part of five 
hours. What sighs of relief we gave as those 
abominable shells ceased to come over, and in 
their place we heard the crump of high explo- 
sive shells! Dame Nature completed the bless- 
ing by pouring down a drizzling rain which 
dissolved the gases and cleared the air, the 
rain then lying in opalescent pools in the shell- 
holes. 

How glorious God's fresh air seemed to us 
after that atrocious experience! With what 
pleasure we laid aside our masks, though they 
had without doubt saved our lives! How ex- 
quisite to feel that the grains of sand between 
our eyelids and eyeballs seemed to be absorb- 
ing! And what a satisfaction to know that, 
despite the agony of it all, we had done our 
bit like men; for the greatest gifts that God 
can give are those necessary for the playing 
of a man's part! 

76 



GASSED! 

Day was breaking when two runners came 
from the officer commanding B Company, to 
tell me that he wanted me to come over to the 
railway embankment, where his dugout was, to 
see a number of his men who were suffering 
severely from the gas. To come for me these 
boys had to cross a field for three hundred 
yards where the enemy were dropping Jack 
Johnsons — immense high explosive shells. The 
boys had nearly been caught by one of them, 
and they thought it unwise to recross the 
ground just then, as the shells were still fall- 
ing. I leaned against the ruins of this old 
stone building, and watched the shells explod- 
ing for some minutes. 

Gas attacks have a most depressing and 
demoralizing effect on everyone. I have never 
made a trip with as little pleasure as that I felt 
at the thought of this one before me. A med- 
ical officer can, but very rarely does, refuse to 
go to cases. He may insist on having them 
brought to him, as there is only one medical 
officer to a battalion, and his death may make 
it awkward for his unit till he is replaced by 

77 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

another surgeon from the nearest field ambu- 
lance. 

However, though there was no let-up to the 
shelling, there was no alternative but to go. 
So I called the runners and my corporal and 
we started over. Whether it was due to the 
depressing effects of the gassing that we had 
gone through I know not, but at any rate this 
was the only occasion during my service at 
the front on which I had a real presentiment 
that death was going to meet me. Distinctly 
do I remember expressing to myself the fol- 
lowing inelegant sentence: 

"I believe this is the last damn walk that I 
am ever going to take!" 

But, fortunately, presentiments seldom ma- 
terialize. Our trip across that field was with- 
out even a narrow escape. The shells obligingly 
burst not closer to us than two or three hun- 
dred yards, and we reached B Company head- 
quarters in safety. There a number of men 
were in rather a bad condition — as a matter 
of fact, one was dying — from the effects of 
a shell which had struck directly into their dug- 
out. It killed one man by impact and gave the 

78 



GASSED! 

others such a concentrated dose of the gas as 
to put them into a dangerous condition. 

As a result of this gas attack many of our 
men had to go to the hospital, and those of us 
who escaped that were depressed for several 
days. Gassing weakens the morale of troops. 
Men do not fear to stand up and face an en- 
emy whom they have a chance of overcoming, 
but they do hate dying like so many rats in a 
trap, when death is due to a gas against which 
they cannot contend except by keeping out 
pure air and breathing through masks a mix- 
ture of carbon dioxide, poison gas, and air. 

Fighting with gas is cowardly and is against 
the rules of civilized warfare. Only a race 
which cares for naught but success, no mat- 
ter how attained, would employ it. True, we 
now retaliate in kind, but we should never have 
considered this method of warfare as worthy 
of civilized man, except in self-defense. If 
you are fighting a wild beast of the jungle, 
jungle methods are in order. I, for one, be- 
lieve that retaliation is the only method to 
combat an enemy who has shown himself ready 
to use any means to attain his end. 

79 



CHAPTER VIII 

RELIEF 

WHEN one battalion goes out of the line 
it is relieved by another, and no sec- 
tion or company of a battalion may go from its 
point of duty until a corresponding section or 
company has relieved it. Reliefs, except on 
very quiet parts of the line, are usually carried 
out by night to keep the enemy from being 
aware that they are going on. A severe shell- 
ing during a relief is always more likely to cause 
many casualties than at other times. Battalion 
H. Q. goes out last. As each company or sec- 
tion is relieved it notifies H. Q., and when all 
are relieved, H. Q. takes its departure, having 
handed over all necessary documents and in- 
formation to the incoming battalion. 

Because the human nervous system can 
stand only a certain amount of abuse battal- 
ions can be kept in the line only a certain 

80 



RELIEF 

length of time, which depends upon the activ- 
ity upon that front, upon the exposure of the 
lines to the enemy, and so the extra nervous 
strain, or sometimes upon the urgency of ad- 
vance or retreat. A relief may be very wel- 
come, or very unwelcome, depending upon the 
same things, but also to a certain extent upon 
the quality of the dugouts in the lines, and the 
kind of accommodation outside. For, strange 
to say, the dugouts in the lines may be pref- 
erable, even with their added danger, because, 
on arriving at your rest station, your battalion 
may find, instead of the good billets they hoped 
for, a few forlorn-looking one-inch board huts, 
with only one-half the required accommoda- 
tion, the temperature below freezing, and no 
stoves; or you may find only tents; or you 
may find virgin forest in which you are to 
build your own camp, while the rain comes 
down with monotonous persistence. 

It is midnight in the late winter, and the 

adjutant, Major P , and I are just leaving 

H. Q. dugout on our way to reserve billets. 
The trenches are very dark, the light from the 
stars overhead not reaching to their depths. 

81 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

We throw down a glare from a flashlight, and 
a Tommy's voice angrily cries: 

" 'Ave a 'eart there, myte; d'ye think ye're 
the only man in the army? Douse the glim." 
So we douse it, and decide that the best way 
to keep peace in the army is to pick our way 
along. Gradually our eyes become accustomed 
to the dark, and instinctively our feet keep on 
the trench mats as we twist and turn along 
the trenches. An occasional flare or star shell 
from the front lines aids us for a moment, but 
plunges us into deeper darkness afterwards. 
Our feet slip on the semi- frozen mud of the 
mats, over our heads in both directions shells 
sing at intervals, and we hear the pounding 
of the guns and bursting shells before and 
behind us. In the quieter moments we can 
hear a quarter of a mile away the rattle of 
transport wagons on the hard road as they 
bring their nightly loads of ammunition and 
food to the dump where we are going and 
where we expect to find our horses. 

We arrive at the dump, and here one might 
think he was in the midst of a large city mar- 
ket just before the dawn. Limbers, general 

82 



RELIEF 

service wagons, pack mules and men make a 
jumble of hurrying, scurrying workers. No 
lights dare be shown for fear of drawing the 
shells of the Germans, who have the range of 
this dump and have been shelling it during the 
day. Someone tells us our horses are just 
around a bend in the road, and we make our 
way there, and find the grooms holding the 
animals, which have become cold and restive 
with waiting. 

Mounting, we start on a five mile ride along 
a hard stone road, dodging and picking our 
way among transport wagons and foot soldiers 
all along it. The road is bordered with trees 
which look like phantoms in the sighing night 
breeze. The stars are twinkling brightly and 
peacefully; to our left the big guns flash and 
roar and their shells sing overhead, and on 
the other side flares are being thrown up by 
the battalions in the line. The north star is 
well up to our right, so we are riding due west. 

We approach a corner where we turn a lit- 
tle northward. Flashing from the window of 
a small house on the corner is a light that 
should not be there. The adjutant who is a 

83 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

strict disciplinarian draws up his horse oppo- 
site the sentry and proceeds to "strafe" him for 
negligence. (How many new words during 
the next few years will be the result of the 
war!) We take the road to the right and a 
couple of miles in advance we see the dim 
shadows of those ancient and architecturally 
beautiful towers on the hill of Mont St. Eloy. 
The Huns have for some days been trying to 
complete their ruin, recently destroying a cor- 
ner. 

At 2 a. m. we arrive at wooden huts just be- 
hind the towers. Our Colonel, who had pre- 
ceded us, with that fine thoughtfulness that 
characterized him, had arranged that a battalion 
in some adjoining huts supply us with tea and 
toast — a banquet after our cold night ride. By 
3 a. m. we are sleeping fast on the floor in our 
Wolseley kits, as we are to rise at 6 a. m., for 
by 7 a. m. the battalion is to be on the march 
to a wood four miles back. As the camp we 
are in was shelled yesterday by the Germans, 
causing thirty casualties, we had better get out 
of range while we can. 

At the appointed hour we are all up, our 
84 



RELIEF 

kits are rolled and piled on a transport by our 
batmen, and a hurried breakfast of bacon, 
bread and tea partaken of. I see a few sick 
and send a couple to the field ambulance, the 
battalion marches away, the camp is inspected 
to see that all is spick and span, — for each bat- 
talion must always leave a clean camp behind 
it — and we are on the road to map location 
W 17 c 4 9, the only description we have of 
our new home. 

As we start we pass the bodies of five dead 
mules, victims of yesterday's shelling. The 
roads are crowded with soldiers, horses, and 
motor transports of all sorts. It is a bright 
cool day — Sunday by the way — and a pictur- 
esque scene meets the eye. In addition to the 
busy, hurrying roadway traffic, the fields show 
life of varying forms and pictures of interest 
to a seeing eye. On one side in a field stands 
a battalion forming three sides of a square. 
The fourth side is filled by the regimental 
band playing, "Lead, Kindly Light," the padre 
standing beside them. It is an open air church 
service. As far as the eye can see are mili- 
tary huts, tents, drilling soldiers, and piles of 

85 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

ammunition, but in the distance, overtopping 
all, is the spire of a church, dumbly supplicat- 
ing us to send our thoughts upward to the 
Prince of Peace, as everything on earth seems 
to tell us to give our minds to the Gods of War. 
And sailing high above the church steeple are 
two military aeroplanes, like guardian angels 
ready to protect their loved ones. Beyond 
them in the dim distance hangs the lazy, sau- 
sage-shaped form of an observation balloon. 
Above the earth, on the earth, and under the 
earth, one sees war, war, war! 

Here and there one passes white limestone 
farmhouses of France with red tiled roofs, the 
buildings forming a square about the court. 
The latter is filled to overflowing with its ever- 
present pile of manure, at one side of which al- 
ways stands the well, raised, it is true, a little 
above the manure dump, but built of brick and 
mortar through which in many cases permeate 
the fluids from this cesspool in the center. A 
medical friend of mine once told me that the 
peasant farmer objects to chloride of lime be- 
ing put on the manure, as it gives a disagreeable 
taste to the water! 

86 



RELIEF 

Then as far as the eye can see the fields that 
are not employed for military purposes are 
tilled and cultivated. How it is done is some- 
thing very difficult to understand, for one never 
sees anybody working in them except an aged 
man and woman, or a young child. Those in 
the prime of youthful manhood are all fight- 
ing for their adored country, la belle France. 
On the corner of one of these cultivated areas 
stands one of those small, stone shrines so com- 
mon in France. This one was erected, so it 
said in carved letters, in 1816, "to the honor 
of his beloved child, Eugenie de Lattre, by her 
father." 

The date unconsciously carries one back to 
the great Napoleon. If he could rise from 
his magnificent tomb in the Invalides and look 
about him in the midst of a war which dwarfs 
his famous battles into insignificance, what 
would his thoughts be? No longer would he 
see his famous guard on prancing steeds and 
with flowing plumes charging bristling British 
squares, as they did in his last great fight at 
Waterloo. He would find them in somber, 
semi-invisible garb, standing shoulder to shoul- 

87 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

der with their one-time hated enemies, the lat- 
ter clad in plain khaki, both facing the same 
foe, the Prussian, whom he had once humbled 
by marching into Berlin, but who had later 
helped the British defeat him at Waterloo. 
And many he would see groveling in the earth 
in trenches, dugouts, and tunnels, like so many 
earthworms. Some few he would discover 
who, with the French love of the spectacular, 
are sailing thousands of feet in the air, or 
leagues under the surface of the sea. 

We pass through a village, Camblain 
L'Abbe, where we go into the town major's to 
inquire about water supplies for our men. The 
town major, a Canadian of fifty, reminds one 
of us of an old friend of the same name in Chi- 
cago, one of the many Canadians who has made 
good — very good — in the United States. It 
is a brother ! 

So, it is being continually shown that 
this war has made the world an even 
smaller place than it was before. Our infor- 
mation obtained, we move on to our new camp, 
a virgin forest one-half mile above Camblain 
L'Abbe, where there is no sign of tent, hut, or 

88 



RELIEF 

dwelling of any kind. But the men are al- 
ready lolling happily on the bare ground, ig- 
noring the pounding of our guns a few miles 
north and inhaling with anticipatory pleasure 
the fragrant odors of stew, steaming in the 
Battalion field cookers just below the brow of 
the hill. 

The busy work of turning an open forest 
into a camp to be occupied by one thousand 
men for a week or more is already in progress. 
The tents have not arrived, but brigade has 
promised to get them along shortly. Plans 
are being made as to where each company is 
to be, where orderly room will be most con- 
venient, what is the best position for the H. Q. 
and the other officers, where the cook houses, 
cookers, water carts, latrines, refuse dumps, 
canteen, batmen's quarters, medical inspection 
tent, shoemaker, tailor, transport department, 
and the hundred and one other departments 
and sections are to be located. 

You see, it is not as easy as it sounds to take 
a thousand men and encamp them in a proper 
manner. Gradually the chaos is subdued, and 
as tents and half-built huts come they are 

89 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

quickly placed in their proper positions. While 
it is all in progress one is likely to stumble over 
the Colonel who has stolen half an hour from 
his busy work to sit on the ground and eat 
some bully beef, biscuits and chocolate, and 
who insists on everyone else doing the same; 
or to bump into the corpulent form of the 
R. S. M. — regimental sergeant major — who is 
everywhere, directing everything, in the way 
that only aE. S. M. can do, though his cross- 
est word is usually grumbled through a smiling 
ruddy face, for his heart is proportionate to his 
large size. 

The day advances, night is coming on, and 
the tents have arrived only in sufficient num- 
bers to cover one-third of the officers and men. 
Fortunately the sun still shines, though the 
March air is getting colder. A sleep in the 
open air promises to require extra blankets 
which do not exist in the camp. However, 
everyone smiles, and there is at least a gradu- 
ally, though slowly, increasing amount of cover 
for the men of the battalion. Some of the 
men, wiser perhaps through previous like pre- 
dicaments, are choosing the sheltered side of a 

90 



RELIEF 

small hill, and are digging shelters for them- 
selves over which they are putting coverings 
of boughs. As it turns out they are wise, for 
in the end only sufficient coverings come for 
two-thirds of the battalion, and consequently, 
a few officers and quite a few men sleep in the 
open with only a blanket and their overcoats 
for covering. And Nature, the deceitful jade, 
who had smiled kindly upon us all day and 
promised us a dry, though cold, night, about 
midnight and for two days succeeding poured 
torrents of rain down upon us. 

The sick parade grew larger and the ground 
became lakes of mud. The cook-houses — so- 
called — which were only fires built in hollows, 
had their fires so drowned that we all ate 
primitive diet as well as lived most closely to 
nature. Everyone, as usual, had his consola- 
tion in laughing at the discomforts of the oth- 
ers, till order came out of chaos in the days 
that followed. 



CHAPTER IX 

DUGOUTS 

T) anyone who has served any time at the 
front the above word will bring back 
recollections of various kinds, for dugouts are 
of varying types. The term is employed to 
denote any shelter in the neighborhood of the 
firing line, from the funk hole which is only a 
recess cut into the side of a trench with little 
or no shelter above it and none at the entrance, 
to the cavity dug down into the ground a dis- 
tance varying from ten feet to seventy, and 
strengthened by supports of wood, steel, or 
concrete. It is also loosely used to denote cel- 
lars, caves, and shellholes which may be em- 
ployed as means of protection from rifle bullet, 
shrapnel, or high explosive shell. 

It is probably true in dugouts, as in many 
of the other necessities of war, that we learned 
much from the German, for he was probably 
the first to recognize the protection rendered 

92 



DUGOUTS 

by a well-built — or, rather, well-dug — reen- 
forced hole in the ground. At various times 
when we have taken portions of the German 
lines we have found well-made homes under- 
ground, with two or more long entrances, one 
at either end, so that if one is hit by a shell, the 
other affords a means of exit to the inhabitants. 

Those we took at Vimy seemed almost free 
of rats, which statement could not truthfully 
be made of our own dugouts. I don't know 
whether the German has some method of get- 
ting rid of rats, but I do know from practical 
and irritating experience that the German 
either has no method of freeing his dugouts of 
lice, or else thoroughly enjoys the company of 
vermin. None of us who occupied his under- 
ground dwellings, even if only for a few days, 
came back free from these annoying and dis- 
gusting companions. So tenacious and cling- 
ing were they that it took repeated baths and 
changes to free us of them. One might con- 
clude that they had been treated in a brotherly 
way by the Hun. 

Of course, as Kelly said, scratching is com- 
mon in the best circles out there. The man 

93 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

who has to reach over his shoulder in an at- 
tempt to remove an irritation from that almost 
unattainable spot between the shoulder blades 
is not shunned or looked at askance, but serves 
only as a source of amusement to his com- 
panions. Underwear searching is a common, 
very common, form of pastime. Though you 
may have been a very dignified and sensitive 
soul, your sensitiveness gradually dulls until 
you care not a "hoot" who may see you sitting 
in a brilliant sunshine anxiously scanning your 
clothes; or rising at midnight from a much- 
troubled sleep and by dim candle light begin- 
ning the often well-rewarded inspection. 

So far as the ordinary Tommy is concerned, 
he ignores not only his acquaintances but the 
world in general. There he sits in his bare 
pelt and performs a massacre which in numbers 
dwarfs almost to infinity the killings of the 
Armenians by the Turks. In the town of 
Vimy I one time passed a jocular, though 
profitable, hour at this occupation while I sat 
on the floor of the cellar of an old brewery 
with a Scotch padre on one side of me, and a 
Nova Scotia major on the other, all absorbed 

94 



DUGOUTS 

in the same intense search, while above our 
heads the shells every little while hit the fallen 
walls of our shelter. And through the thin- 
walled partition that separated us from our 
soldier-servants we heard propounded a most 
momentous question which showed us that they 
too were employing their time to advantage. 
The question was : — 

"Say, Kelly, what the h will all the lice 

do for a living after the war?" And for once 
Kelly was floored. • 

Often dugouts are but shelters dug into the 
wall of a trench, a thin sheet-iron roof put on 
top, and two or three layers of sandbags on 
top of that. This gives protection against bul- 
lets, shrapnel, or bits of shell, but a straight 
hit from a medium-sized shell would go right 
through. And yet it is strange how seldom 
these are hit direct, considering their large 
numbers. This may in part account for one's 
feeling of relative security while in them, but 
this feeling is no doubt also partly due to our 
resemblance to the ostrich which hides its head 
to avoid danger. Be this as it may, many a 
good night's sleep have I passed in shelters 

95 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

such as this, with shells bursting within one 
hundred yards at frequent intervals during the 
night. During the month previous to the Bat- 
tle of Arras my orderlies and I lived in an 
abode of this nature most of the time, only 500 
yards from our front line trenches. Shells 
continually fell well within the hundred yard 
radius of it — as a matter of fact, shortly after- 
wards this dugout was completely blown in — 
yet no one worried in the least about it. This 
is not told as a strange experience, for all offi- 
cers who have served at the front have often 
lived in the same surroundings. This experi- 
ence is related only to illustrate one type of 
protective shelter. 

Deep dugouts vary in depth anywhere from 
ten to forty or fifty feet in cases where the sol- 
dier has had to do all the digging, but in some 
cases where limestone quarrying has been ex- 
tensively carried on there have often been 
found, ready to hand, caves, sixty to one hun- 
dred feet in depth, such as the famous Zivy 
cave, opposite Mt. St. Eloy. There are many 
of them about this region, some of which, as 
the one mentioned, are large enough to give 

96 



DUGOUTS 

shelter to 1000 men. Usually there is a cir- 
cular airshaft in the center. This shaft in 
Zivy cave was the target for months for Ger- 
man gunners, as they had occupied this region, 
and knew it well. In fact the story is told 
that in this cave, or one of the others near 
about, 800 Germans were gassed and killed by 
the French when they retook this ground. 
How much truth is in the story it is difficult to 
say. But at any rate, all through the hard, 
cold winter of 1916-17 the Canadians who were 
holding this front found good protection and 
some warmth in this cave for many of their 
men, though at all times the air in it had a 
grayish tinge, as the ventilation was hardly 
up-to-date. 

On one occasion at 11 p. m. Colonel J 

and the writer found Zivy cave as welcome a 
sight as ever struck the eye of man. Coming 
into the trenches, we stumbled into a heavy 
Hun artillery barrage. After a number of 
close shaves, in two of which we were buried in 
mud from the exploding shell, we were heavily 
dragging our feet through the thick mud of 
Guillermot trench when a shell struck full in 

97 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

the trench twenty feet in front of us, nearly 
bursting our ear drums. We pressed closely 
against the wall of the trench, awaiting the 
next. It came almost immediately, landing 
thirty feet behind us, — bracketing us. 

"The next will get us, sir," I said. 

"Not on your life, doctor," cheerfully re- 
plied Colonel J , And he was right, for a 

few moments later we were stumbling into the 
entrance of Zivy cave, and that slimy, dark, 
four-foot opening was more welcome to us 
than would be today the spacious rotunda of 
the Savoy. I always admired the Colonel's 
cheerful confidence, but, as Kelly well said, 
"Confidence is a foine thing, but it raly has 
very little affict in stoppin' a Hun shell that's 
comin' yer way." This, the Colonel unfor- 
tunately found out in the Battle of Arras. 

From one of these deep caves on the Vimy 
front previous to the battle of Easter Monday, 
tunnels miles in length, electric lighted, were 
built, leading to different headquarters, aid 
posts, ambulance depots, and to various points 
in No Man's Land. They were of inestimable 
service when the day of battle arrived. No 

98 



DUGOUTS 

doubt they will be among the show-places of 
France to encourage tourist traffic after the 
war. 

The entrance to deep dugouts is usually 
only high enough to go through in a stooped 
position; and in this case the easiest way to 
enter them is to back down. After some prac- 
tice one gets accustomed to this manner of 
progression, and it becomes easy — as if our 
bodies had reverted to the days of our cave- 
dwelling ancestry to accompany the turning 
back of civilization's clock. The two entrances 
preferably point away from the enemy lines, 
but in case of advance the enemy dugouts may 
be taken over in spite of the fact that their 
entrances seem to invite a shell to enter. And, 
rather strangely, shells rarely seem to make a 
straight hit on an entrance. 

Cellars are quite often utilized as shelters 
where a little village has become incorporated 
in the lines. They often make comparatively 
luxurious places of residence for officers and 
men, as luxury goes in these parts. The fallen 
brick walls, in addition to the cellar roof, give 
fair protection, though a straight hit by a 

99 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

shell would mean a good chance of death to 
those within. As breweries are usually the 
most palatial buildings in French towns, they 
are often chosen as headquarters, or as dress- 
ing stations either for field ambulances or regi- 
mental aid posts. A brewery at Aix Noulette 
which, not excepting the church, was the only 
building not destroyed by shell fire, for many 
months served as a most complete advanced 
dressing station. The rats were plentiful, as 
they are in most dugouts, and often their little 
beady eyes would stare in a startled manner at 
one's flashlight, and their bodies remain in a 
sort of hypnotized immobility. But this brew- 
ery gave shelter to thirty or forty patients, and 
was exceedingly useful, till one day a selfish 
artillery officer came along and placed a bat- 
tery of heavies just behind it to draw German 
fire on the brewery. This is a disagreeable 
habit of the artillery, to choose hitherto safe 
locations and to turn them into uninhabitable 
ones, to the disgust of those about. 

One cellar dugout in Calonne is worthy of 
description. It was in the cellar of what had 
been a large residence. We used it as a regi- 

100 



DUGOUTS 

mental aid post, and it was by far the most 
luxurious that I have had the pleasure of see- 
ing. In the room of the cellar occupied by 
the M. O. the walls had been papered, a fire- 
place installed, and it contained two comfort- 
able beds, arm chairs, two carved oak-framed 
mirrors, and a well-tuned piano with a stool. 
This was only four hundred yards from the 
front line. Often as the shells dropped all 
about us a group of officers sat there in the 
warm glow of a coal fire — the coal probably 
filched by our batmen from the fosse nearby — 
while someone of a musical turn played the 
piano, and the others sang such classical ditties 
as, Annie Laurie, When Irish Eyes Are Smil- 
ing, and Another Little Drink Wouldn't Do 
Us Any Harm. 

One morning, after a night of jollity such 
as this during which the shelling had been fairly 
heavy, one of the orderlies found a "dud" in 
the next cellar which, had it exploded, would 
have jolted the piano a bit! An engineering 
officer mentioned to me that he had been pass- 
ing the previous night, and could not believe 
his ears when he heard the singing and the 

101 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

piano accompaniment. Could he be blamed? 

I hasten to add that this was the only dugout 
in which such luxury as this existed, or any- 
thing approaching to it. This cellar had one 
other advantage. It still had enough of the 
walls and roof standing to allow us in spare 
moments to look through the holes made by 
shells and see what was happening in No 
Man's Land. And on one occasion the writer 
stood up there and watched every detail of one 
of the most successful raids ever put on by a 
battalion on the British front. 

It was a cold winter's day, and the ground 
had a complete covering of snow. Just at 
daybreak a box barrage was put on a part of 
the German line on our front. Our men 
climbed out of the trenches, and apparently at 
their leisure went across to the German lines. 
One of the men carried a telephone with wire 
coiled about it which he unrolled as he went, 

and Major R , M. C, telephoned back to 

H. Q. in our lines that all was proceeding well. 
They returned with one hundred prisoners, 
at that time a record number for a raid. The 
boy, aged twenty, who had carried the tele- 

102 



DUGOUTS 

phone coolly rewound his wire, and brought 
phone and wire back with him, getting a bullet 
in the thigh, but finishing his work, and later 
receiving a military medal for his conduct. I 
was called down from this interesting sight to 
dress him and some others of our wounded, as 
well as many German wounded who were 
brought in prisoners. 

For those who are unacquainted with bar- 
rages, it may be explained that a box barrage 
is a heavy shelling put on the enemy lines in 
the form of a box, taking in the front line and 
some of the supports in such a manner that 
those within it cannot get back and reinforce- 
ments are unable to come up from the rear. 
The enemy are then dependent upon shell, and 
machine-gun, and trench mortar fire in retal- 
iating. 

We obtain the identification of the troops 
opposite by the prisoners taken, as well as get- 
ting from them in different ways information 
useful to us and detrimental to the enemy. Of 
course the enemy employs like methods, but 
during the winter of 1916-17 on our different 
fronts we positively owned No Man's Land. 

103 



CHAPTER X 

THE SICK PARADE 

THE handling of the sick is not so easy a 
matter as the caring for the wounded in 
the lines, for the reason that it is not what dis- 
ease the man has that the medical officer must 
decide as much as whether he has any disease, 
or has simply joined the Independent Work- 
ers of the World. In other words, is he really 
ill, or is he just suffering from ennui, has he 
at last become so "fed up" with it all that he 
has decided to go sick, running the gauntlet of 
an irate M. O. with the hope of receiving a few 
hours or days of rest at the transport or in the 
hospital? It may be a lucky father who knows 
his own son, but it is a fortunate medical of- 
ficer who knows his own battalion. If he does 
it is fortunate for the M. O., for it makes his 
toils lighter. But it may not be so fortunate 
for the poor devil who has just decided that 
once again he will endeavor to "put it over" 

104 



THE SICK PARADE 

the doctor. For the latter gets to know the 
regular parader, and meets him with a suspi- 
cious look of recognition. 

"Well, Jones, and what is it this time?" 
asks the M. O. in tones so cold that the 
poor victim can almost taste Pill No. 9, or 
Castor Oil as he listens. If he is not ill, but is 
simply sick and tired of the mud, dirt, rats, 
lice, discipline, and discomfort — as we all get 
at times — he will have to tax his ingenuity and 
his acting ability to convince the doctor that 
his pains in his legs and back are real, not im- 
aginary; or that his right knee is swollen, when 
the practised eye of the physician says it is not. 
If he is an old soldier and knows the game 
well, he may get away with it, sometimes with 
the tacit consent of a sympathetic medical of- 
ficer. 

Tommy is not the only one who endeavors 
at times to get out of the lines with imaginary 
ills. His officers, and some medical officers for 
the matter of that, occasionally set him the ex- 
ample. It is very human on occasions to long 
for comfort instead of discomfort; cleanliness 
in place of dirt; a decent, white-sheeted bed in 

105 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

exchange for a hard, uncomfortable, and pos- 
sibly vermin-infested bunk; and to wish to in- 
dulge in peace, quietness, rest, safety, and civi- 
lization after the noise, fatigue, dangers, and 
barbarism that give truth to the saying that 
war is hell. But the officer gets the same treat- 
ment as does his men. On one occasion I saw 
a colonel removed from an ambulance to make 
room for a badly wounded Tommy. 

And it may safely be said that if the ordi- 
nary soldier hates the sick parade, his abhor- 
rence of it is mild in comparison to that felt 
for it by the battalion representative of the 
Army Medical Corps. It is a thorn in his side 
that makes itself felt daily. And the reason 
is that he is between three fires, — the Assistant 
Director of Medical Services who expects a 
low sick rate in the different units ; the battal- 
ion and company commanders who expect the 
men on parade, which means fit and on duty, 
while at the same time insisting, quite rightly, 
that the men get every attention at the hands 
of the medical department ; and a certain small 
percentage of the men for whom the novelty 
and glamour of the war has worn off and who 

106 



THE SICK PARADE 

have become tired of the food, and find the 
work arduous and monotonous. It is this 
small percentage of the men — not large in 
numbers, but present in most units — who 
make the work difficult, for they begin to won- 
der how they can escape the working parties 
or the dangers and hardships of the trenches, 
and if by any chance they have varicose veins, 
flat feet, rheumatism, short sight, or any of the 
thousand and one ills that man is heir to, they 
immediately begin "swinging the lead," as the 
boys call malingering. In the Royal Army 
Medical Corps they call it "scrimshanking." 

The M. O. is not popular with leadswingers 
or scrimshankers. A witty Tommy once said 
that all you can get from an officer of the medi- 
cal department is a pill number nine — made 
up mostly of calomel — "an' if 'e hain't got a 
pill nine 'e'll give ye a four an' a five." 

No doubt the man who "swings the lead" is 
to be sympathized with at times. Often he is 
given work to do almost beyond human endur- 
ance, his dugout may be a mudhole, his clothes 
soaking from a downpour of rain, his rations 
short, and, finally, perhaps the rum ration, the 

107 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

one cheery thing on a dark day, is missing. 
He has done his bit anyway — or thinks he has 
— and his only possible relief is to say that he 
is too ill to go on the next day. Occasionally, 
he has an attack of what a sharp little French 
Canadian sergeant called frigidity of the feet, 
and he dreads his next tour in the front line. 
At any rate, for one cause or another, he de- 
cides to go before the M. O. And many funny 
stories are told of the attempts made by men 
to get a few days' "excuse duty," which means 
a few days with nothing to do. Two men are 
overheard at the following conversation: 

"Say, Bill, what are you goin' to tell the 
croaker?" — a common name for a stern M. O. 

"Oh, I've got bad rheumatic pains in my 
back." 

"The devil you have; that's what I had. 
Well, I'll go strong on diarrhea." 

Each tells his story. It depends on how sick 
they appear or how often they have been be- 
fore his medical majesty in the past as to the 
result. The latter at least may work a day 
off, at the expense of a nauseating dose of 
castor oil, taken at once, and some lead and 

108 



THE SICK PARADE 

opium pills, consigned to the gutter as soon as 
the sick man is out of sight. The former prob- 
ably gets M. & D., that is medicine and duty, 
which translated means, carry on, with perhaps 
a good rubbing of his back with a strong lini- 
ment. 

My corporal told me a story of two men who 
opened a can of bully beef and for four days 
left it standing on the parapet during hot 
weather. Then they ate it with the hope of 
getting ptomaine poisoning. 

Another chap is said to have feigned insan- 
ity by giving all his attention to snatching up 
every bit of paper he could find in the trenches 
or out of them, and studiously endeavoring to 
make the bits of paper into some important 
document. He carried out this apparently 
foolish search so long that at last he was pro- 
nounced insane and given his discharge from 
the forces. On receiving his discharge papers 
he studied them carefully as he walked away. 
Another soldier heard him murmur: 

"Why, that's the paper I have been search- 
ing for all the time." 

Deafness is one of the commonest complaints 
109 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

of a soldier who is scrimshanking. The soldier 
tells the M. O. that for some months past his 
hearing has been lessening and that at last he 
is so deaf that he cannot carry on. He claims 
that while on sentry duty or "standing to" in 
the front line he has already nearly shot one 
officer and three different men because he 
could not hear them giving him the password. 
The M. O. in a loud voice questions him as to 
his name, place of birth, age, and so on, and 
so on, keeping his face straight and his lips 
hidden, to avoid allowing the soldier, if really 
deaf, to read his lips. Gradually the voice of 
the officer is lowered, and the man who at first 
had difficulty hearing his loud tones, uncon- 
sciously, if faking, answers the lowered voice 
till he is answering to a voice that is almost a 
whisper. 

Then comes suddenly a change in the man- 
ner of the "croaker." He becomes stern and 
rebukes the man, ordering him forth to do his 
duty like the other men of his battalion, and 
not ever again to dare to come on parade with 
a plea of deafness, under a threat of marking 
him plain "DUTY," which means criming and 

110 



THE SICK PARADE 

a likelihood of twenty-eight days first field 
punishment. 

Looking backward one can think of many 
amusing incidents in which some chap tried to 
get out of the lines, and perhaps succeeded in 
so doing, by an imaginary ill. A soldier named 
Jones who had not been long in the lines be- 
came a regular caller upon me. As usual at 
first every consideration was shown to him, 
but as his face appeared and reappeared al- 
most daily, and as the said face was suffused 
with the glow of health, his form of the 
robust type, and his complaints always func- 
tional — that is, consisting of symptoms only, 
with no signs of a real disease to cause them — 
I began to feel certain that he was a "lead- 
swinger." On his first call or two he had been 
"excused duty," but as my suspicions grew 
firmer that he was simply shifting his work 
onto the shoulders of some other poor Tommy, 
my manner toward him grew rather reserved, 
and finally antagonistic. 

About this time he came to see me at one of 
my daily morning sick parades. He tried to 

111 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

look as ill and dejected as his very healthy ap- 
pearance would permit. 

"Well, Jones, what is the trouble this time?" 
I asked harshly when his turn came. 

"I can't swallow, sir. I can't get any food 
down my throat. I don't know what's the 
matter, sir, but I had this happen to me ten 
years ago, and I nearly died. I was in the hos- 
pital for three months." 

"How long since you have swallowed any 
food, Jones?" 

"Well, I managed to get down a little, night 
before last, but not a bite since then, not a bite. 
And I'm feeling awful weak. I don't think I 
could carry on long like this. But of course 
I'll do my best, sir." 

"Yes, I suppose so, Jones," I answered, 
feeling certain that he was lying. "Of course 
a few days without food really does most of 
us good. A friend of mine regularly goes a 
week on nothing but water whenever he feels 
a bit 'livery,' as the English say. And then 
you remember there was a man once who went 
forty days fasting. He became quite famous. 
So another day or two won't hurt you, Jones. 

112 



THE SICK PARADE 

However, if it went too long it might become 
serious. So I want you to report back here 
tomorrow morning, sure, if you have not suc- 
ceeded in swallowing by that time. I have in 
my panier a stomach tube, and we'll pass it 
down through your esophagus and open it 
up. It's a very tender passage," I continued 
without smiling, "and you must expect severe 
pain from the passing of the tube; unfortu- 
nately we have nothing to deaden the pain, but 
you can stand it if you make up your mind to 
do so. Now you do your best to swallow like 
a good fellow, and I think you will succeed, 
but be sure to come back tomorrow if you 
don't. That'll do, Jones. Next." 

As a matter of fact I had no stomach or 
esophageal tube, but I was just trying out a 
little Christian Science treatment, for, as Doo- 
ley says, if the Christian Scientists had a little 
more science and the medical men a little more 
Christianity it would not matter much which 
you called in, so long as you had a good nurse. 
And the moral treatment proved effective in 
this case, for Jones did not come back next 
day; nor did we see him again till nearly a 

113 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

week had passed when he came in on parade 
again. 

"What's doing this time, Jones? Can't 
swallow again?" 

"Oh, no, sir. I got my swallowing back all 
righv." I could hardly resist the temptation 
to smile. "But since then I vomit all my food. 
Haven't kept a thing on my stomach since I 
saw you, sir. I saw your man, Kelly, the other 
day, and he was so unkind as to tell me that I 
had better take something with claws in it. He 
seemed to think I was swinging the lead, and 
I'm a sick man, sir," with an injured air which, 
however, did not take any of the healthy red 
from his cheek. I stepped outside and asked 
the corporal in charge of the sick from his com- 
pany what diet Jones was able to eat. 

"Diet! He don't eat no diet, sir. He eats 
every darn thing in sight and looks for more," 
was the sneering reply. 

"I thought so. Now, Jones," I said sternly, 
"if you come on sick parade again, when you 
are not sick I'm going to put in a crime charge 
against you for malingering. Now, get out." 

114 



THE SICK PARADE 

And he got out, and that was the last time 
I saw him on sick parade. 

The chaps who fake are nearly always new 
arrivals in the line. One such came hopping 
into my dugout in the middle of the night, 
with his boot, sock, and puttee, off one foot 
which he carefully kept off the ground. He 
said he had been blown up by a shell and bur- 
ied, severely injuring the foot he had bared. 
I examined the foot tenderly and found a 
swelling half the size of an egg just over the 
inner side of the ankle. He howled with pain 
when I touched it, so my examination was 
rather cursory — that is hurried. Without 
diagnosing the condition, I swabbed it with 
iodine, merely to do something, and applied a 
dressing, telling my assistant to make out a 
hospital entry card for him. After leaving him 
to go back to my bunk, for I was tired, I hap- 
pened to glance around and saw a broad grin 
on his face. Stepping back I took off the 
dressing, and carefully examined the swelling 
notwithstanding his protest that it was very 
painful. I found then that it was simply a 
fatty tumor — an excess, but harmless, growth 

115 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

of fat in a localized area — which had probably- 
been there for years. He then admitted the 
fact that the swelling had been there for years, 
but of course still claimed that he had hurt his 
ankle a few minutes before. As it showed no 
sign of it, he went back to duty! 

Every medical officer has many such inci- 
dents after a few months of service. They of- 
ten add a bit of humor to a dull business. 
Rather strangely, the parades are always 
larger out of the lines than in them, for the 
vast majority of the men hold it as a point of 
honor to stick it out, no matter how rough it 
may be, while in the line. But as soon as the 
battalion gets out of the line and hard training, 
route marches, equipment cleaning and inspec- 
tion begin, the parades increase in size. Often 
the men hope that they will be given excuse 
duty, which means that they have nothing to 
do for that day. Or, should the parade be held 
at a late hour, some few of them prefer to 
stand about the M. O.'s tent awaiting their 
turn, to doing some drill or route march. The 
sick parade is held daily at a fixed hour, and 
as a rule the earlier the parade the smaller the 

116 



THE SICK PARADE 

number who come. If it is held before all 
other parades, only the really ill come, for the 
others would but add to their daily number of 
parades if they came pretending to be ill. 

A medical friend of mine had an interesting 
way of keeping down the numbers at his pa- 
rade. He was a young man with a ministerial 
air, wore eyeglasses, and was apparently very 
serious, though underneath the outer covering 
was a rich vein of humor. When his numbers 
grew too large to suit him, in other words 
when fifty to one hundred came, to practically 
all he gave an ounce of castor oil, to be taken in 
his presence. One day the colonel came to him 
and said that he had had some complaints from 
the men that the only thing they got from the 
M. O. for all complaints was castor oil. The 
medical officer's face remained long and seri- 
ous, and looking at the colonel over his spec- 
tacles, he said: 

"Well, do you know, my dear colonel, that 
castor oil is a wonderful remedy, marvelous, 
almost miraculous. Can you believe it on my 
sick parade a week ago today there were sev- 
enty-five sick who came. I have given them 

117 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

nothing but castor oil, and so many are cured 
that today only seventeen came to see me. It's 
really an astonishing remedy. Wouldn't you 
like to take an ounce of it, sir?" 

"No, damn you, I wouldn't," roared the 
colonel, as he made his exit. 

I was sitting in his tent one day when a lieu- 
tenant came in to see him, saying that ten 
years before he had broken his clavicle — "col- 
lar bone," — and that over the old fracture he 
was having so much pain at times that he 
feared he would have to get a month off. 

"Ah, yes, my dear Mr. Blank. Would you 
kindly divest yourself of your clothes till I 
examine the shoulder?" and the half of his 
face on my side screwed itself up into an ex- 
aggerated wink, which meant to me that he 
considered that this officer was trying to "put 
one over." He probably knew him! 

When the officer had stripped, Capt. Smith 
asked him to show the exact spot of tenderness, 
and the lieutenant put his ringer with exacti- 
tude on a certain point. Captain Smith 
touched the spot with his fingers, the officer 

118 



THE SICK PARADE 

exclaiming, "Oh, that hurts, doc," and draw- 
ing back in pain. 

"Ah, yes, I'm sorry, but I'll be careful, Mr. 
Blank," and he examined gently the shoulder, 
arm and chest, but always finished the exami- 
nation by pushing in fairly hard with his 
finger and saying, "Now that's where it hurts, 
Mr. Blank?" And Mr. Blank would each 
time cringe with the pain of the touch. He 
repeated this again and again, but I noticed 
that each time he came back to the tender spot 
he chose a point an inch or so from that which 
he had chosen the last time. Finally he had 
poor Blank saying, "Yes, that's the spot," 
when the spot touched was nearly six inches 
from the original sensitive point. At last the 
doctor said, very seriously: 

"Yes, yes, Mr. Blank, that painful condi- 
tion must be attended to. It is a strange con- 
dition, don't you know, for as I go on examin- 
ing it, the tenderness shifts about a great deal, 
and I feel sure that with a little rubbing it 
may be driven out altogether. Now this lini- 
ment is the very thing, the very thing. Yes, 
yes, twice daily, night and morning. Good 

119 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

afternoon, my dear Blank. Don't fail to come 
back if it troubles you any more;" and Blank 
went out looking a bit sheepish, while the doc- 
tor turned to me again with his face wearing 
that exaggerated wink. Then he continued, 
as if he were just carrying on an interrupted 
conversation, "You know, Manion, some of 
these officers are exceedingly troublesome, ex- 
ceedingly so, when they happen to swing the 
lead, for one must appear to have the greatest 
consideration for them. Now I have one ex- 
tremely interesting case of laryngitis in one 
of the officers. It goes every now and then to 
the extent of complete loss of voice. Trouble- 
some condition, for he cannot give his orders 
to his men, and to hurry him back into condi- 
tion I have sent him twice to the hospital. 
Now, though this officer's courage is absolutely 
unquestioned, I find myself at times wonder- 
ing if it may not be just that general fed-up 
feeling that we all get rather than laryngitis 
that affects him. Captain Thompson is a great 
friend of mine which makes it all the more dif- 
ficult, but you know, my dear chap, really it's 
so easy to quit speaking aloud, and just whis- 

120 



THE SICK PARADE 

per instead. I wonder does he talk in his 
sleep? By jove, that would be interesting. I 
must make inquiries. 

"But," he continued, "I told him off a bit 
a couple of nights ago. One of our companies 
was putting on a raid at daybreak, and the of- 
ficer in charge of the raid is not overburdened 
with nerve. One-half hour before the raid he 
started to groan, when we were all in head- 
quarters dugout together, and said he had a 
very severe pain in his stomach or bowels. 
Though I doubted the pain, I examined him 
carefully, and finding no real cause for it I al- 
lowed him to carry on, and, to do him justice, 
he went over the top like a man and did his bit 
in the raid as well as anyone could have done. 

"But just after I had examined him Thomp- 
son stepped up familiarly to me and said: 'Do 
you really think, Smith, that So-and-so did 
have a pain?' 'Damn you, Thompson,' I re- 
plied, 'what right have you to ask me such a 
question?' 'Oh, come now, Smith, really, do 
you think he did have a pain?' 'Well, frankly, 
Thompson,' I answered, in a low, confidential 
tone, 'I am losing so much of my faith in hu- 

121 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

manity, don't you know, that I find myself 
doubting if you have any laryngitis when you 
lose your voice!' And with a good-natured 
burst of laughter he left me. But I somehow 
feel that he won't have laryngitis again for 
some time! 

"But honestly, Manion, my great surprise 
always has been, and still is, not that so many 
try to get out of the line, but that in spite of 
the dangers and hardships 95 per cent, of of- 
ficers and men do their hard, dangerous, try- 
ing jobs with a smile and without complaint. 
How very little cowardice there is in the 
world!" 

And anyone who has served out there must 
agree with that opinion, particularly when he 
remembers the great numbers who have re- 
mained at home, facing no guns, braving no 
dangers, enduring no hardships. The above 
stories are told to illustrate the humorous side 
of the life; for all praise and gratitude is due 
to the men who have served out there in the 
noble cause of the allies. If at times some of- 
ficer or man gets tired of the mud, rain, lice, 

122 



THE SICK PARADE 

shells, dirt, and dangers that he is daily en- 
countering, and tries to get a few days in civi- 
lized surroundings, he is but showing a very hu- 
man side to his nature. 




•To JSas* ff*3pi*aZa> SO Mi lea Bac£t 



C Crater CT. Cooimwntcation TreacA MRS. /fain Dressing 

S. Sap RAPJtegwuntalAia'Jhai Station. 

O.P. Observation »? H.Q, BattJUadquartera CCS Casualty 

Listening Post A. D. S. Admaeedbttssing Station Clearing Station 

Diagram Showing Route of Wounded from Firing Line to 
Base Hospitals. 



124 



CHAPTER XI 

CARING FOR THE WOUNDED 

THE method of caring for the wounded 
at the front depends a great deal upon 
whether a battalion is holding a set of trenches 
on a standing front, or advancing, either in a 
big push, or in a raid. The medical officer to a 
fighting battalion is the member of the Army 
Medical Corps who is closer to the firing line 
than any of the other officers of that corps in 
the whole theater of war. He is served by the 
nearest field ambulance, whose stretcher bear- 
ers not only evacuate the wounded from his 
R.A.P. — regimental aid post — but also keep 
him supplied with medicines, dressings, splints, 
and other medical and surgical necessities. 
His food is sent up with that of the remainder 
of his battalion from his own battalion trans- 
port. 

The field ambulance evacuates the severe 
cases to the nearest CCS. — casualty clearing 

125 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

station — which is the closest hospital to the 
lines. It is at the CCS. that the necessary op- 
erations are performed. Here the real surgi- 
cal work of the medical corps begins, for up to 
that station it is much a matter of first aid. 
From the casualty clearing station cases that 
look as if they will require protracted attention 
are transferred to ambulance trains, which con- 
yey the cases fifty, sixty, or more miles to the 
base hospitals at the rear, perhaps about Bou- 
logne, Havre and other towns reasonably well 
out of danger. And from these hospitals the 
wounded or sick may be transferred again, this 
time to hospital ships which cross the channel 
to one of our channel ports. At these points 
they are once more put aboard ambulance 
trains and distributed to hospitals in London, 
Manchester, Canterbury, Edinburgh or any 
of the other large hospital centers. 

Suppose that a battalion is holding a part 
of the entrenched front, roughly one thousand 
yards square. The medical officer always trav- 
els with his battalion. In an area such as this 
his R.A.P. would be in a dugout somewhere 
in the vicinity of the one which is used as head- 

126 



CARING FOR THE WOUNDED 

quarters for the battalion. A medical officer's 
position is toward the rear of his battalion 
whether the men are on the march, in an ad- 
vance, or holding the lines, for the reason that 
the wounded and sick are naturally sent toward 
the rear. Very commonly the R.A.P. is about 
half way from the rear support trench to the 
firing line. 

The dugout of the M. O. is generally of the 
superficial variety. It has a roof made up of 
two or three layers of bags of sand piled on 
top of a layer of boards, just sufficient to give 
one a feeling of security in a most insecure po- 
sition. A straight hit from a shell on the roof 
of this type of dugout means that a new medi- 
cal officer will be required for that battalion 
at once. I have a vivid recollection of my 
first experience in such a dugout, long before 
I had become accustomed to living in them by 
the week. It was on a fairly active front near 
Bully Grenay. I had been sent from a field 
ambulance to relieve the regular M.O. while 
he took a well earned leave. His palatial resi- 
dence was only about two hundred yards from 
the front line, its ceiling was less than six feet 

127 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

from the floor, for my head hit it whenever I 
stood up, and the rain which poured for days 
trickled down our necks as it filtered through 
the roof in many places. The shells kept drop- 
ping most annoyingly that first day, hitting 
everywhere except exactly on the center of 
the roof, and I knew it was only a matter of 
minutes till one landed there. Then to add to 
my uneasiness the sergeant lit a fire with wet 
wood which made a black smoke that poured 
from the bit of tin which was used for a pipe 
in the roof. This was the finishing touch, for 
I felt certain that every gunner on that front 
was using that smoke for a target. Turning 
to the sergeant, I asked with as cool a manner 
as I could command: 

"How close do those shells have to come be- 
fore you would consider it advisable to move 
out?" 

"To move out? Oh, coming through the 
roof, I guess," he answered, with a blank stare. 
I did not dare to ask any more questions, but 
I thought to myself, — "what a nice, healthy 
time to move!" It took some time for me to 
become accustomed to that billet, but out there 

128 



CARING FOR THE WOUNDED 

one learns to become accustomed to anything. 

In front of the Medical Officer are the men 
who hold the line. There are four platoons to 
a company, four companies to a battalion ; and 
with each platoon is one stretcher bearer, mak- 
ing sixteen bearers to each battalion. These 
stretcher bearers are trained in first aid, dress- 
ings, setting fractures and so forth by the M.O. 
of their regiment when they are out at rest 
billets behind the lines. In the lines they ac- 
company their platoons and companies, and 
when the men go over the top in raids and 
advances the stretcher bearers go with them, 
stopping to dress and care for the wounded 
as they cross the battle area. 

No finer set of men serve out there than the 
stretcher bearers, whether they serve with a 
battalion, an ambulance, or any other unit. 
Their work is without the stimulation or ex- 
citement the fighting men get, but has the same 
dangers and hardships. They go over the top 
as do the others, and it is their duty to carry 
wounded with all haste through heavily bom- 
barded areas. The fact that, out of thirty-two 
stretcher bearers used by me in three days, thir- 

129 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

teen were hit, well illustrates the dangers that 
these boys cheerfully go through. A good 
story is told of one of them, a chap who in civil 
life had been a "tough" in the slums of one of 
our large cities, and who had seen the inside 
of a jail more than once, but who as a stretcher 
bearer faced coolly, even gayly, any extraor- 
dinary danger to get his wounded to the rear. 

He was in charge of a squad for Number 

Canadian Field Ambulance one day. He 

and his men were taking a stretcher case over a 
ridge which was under constant and heavy shell 
fire. Tiring, he commanded his squad to stop 
and rest. They obeyed, but demurred, saying 
that it was too dangerous a place to rest. 

"Naw," he said, lighting a cigarette after 
handing one to the wounded man, "there ain't 
no danger. Sit down an' take it easy." 

"But, look here now, Tom," the others ar- 
gued, "y° u may be the first to have one of 
those bally shells blow you into Kingdom 
Come." 

"Not — by — one — damsite," he slowly re- 
plied, "I've got a hunch dat I'm goin' to slip 
me arm round Lizzie once agen before dey 

130 



CARING FOR THE WOUNDED 

get me ;" and he lay on the ground and thought- 
fully puffed at his cigarette. So the others 
joined him, for their bravery was unquestioned; 
and with the philosophy so common out there, 
one said, — "Well, I guess we can stand it if 
you can." Tom had puffed at his fag a few 
moments with the shells dropping dangerously 
near, when, without changing his position, he 
asked: 

"Did you mugs ever hear de story of de two 
specials wot met in Lon'on de oder day? 
Naw? Well, I'll tell yez. Two special con- 
stables met, an' one o' dem had no hat, coat 
all torn to rags, bot' eyes black, an' some hair 
gone. 'Hello, Brown,' says de oder, 'wot-a- 
hell's wrong wid yez?' An' de first answers: 
'Ye know dat purty little Missus Smit wot 
lives behind de Lion an' Dragon whose hus- 
ban's gone to de front? Well, he ain't gone!' ' 

Even the wounded man joined the laugh. 
They all finished their smoke without even 
glancing in the direction of the shells bursting 
nearby, when the stretcher was picked up and 
carried safely to the rear. His officers all say 
that they would as quickly trust Tom in a 

131 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

ticklish job as any other man in the world. But 
he is just an example of the thousands of loyal, 
life-risking stretcher bearers — some, like Tom, 
rough, uneducated, uncouth ; many others with 
the culture acquired in college halls and draw- 
ing rooms — who are daily and nightly giving 
of their blood and their service to the men in 
the lines. 

These bearers wear a red cross on the arm, 
are non-combatant troops and carry no rifles. 
Each two of them carry a stretcher, and all of 
them carry a little haversack slung over the 
shoulder and filled with large and small surgi- 
cal dressings, bandages, scissors, splints, and 
perhaps a bottle of iodine. Being non-combat- 
ant troops they are supposed to be allowed to 
carry out their work in comparative safety, but 
they really run the same risks as the combat- 
ants. This is to be expected in severe actions, 
for a machine-gunner or artilleryman cannot 
even try to avoid the stretcher bearers when 
they are mixed up, as they always are, with 
the fighting troops. 

But, at any rate, the Germans get the repu- 
tation of caring as little for red crosses or white 

132 



CARING FOR THE WOUNDED 

flags as they do for scraps of paper. One af- 
ternoon I stood in a trench one-quarter mile 
from Willerval which was held by our troops, 
and in the ruins of which there was an advanced 
dressing station of a field ambulance. For 
some reason two ambulances came over the 
crest of Vimy Ridge in broad daylight, in 
plain view of the Germans, and ran rapidly 
down into Willerval. They arrived without 
mishap, but one-half hour later I saw them 
start back over the ridge a few minutes apart. 
The first one had got one-half way up the steep 
side of the ridge when a heavy German shell 
lit thirty feet behind it. And then shell after 
shell dropped behind it all the way up the 
steep slope. Fortunately the gunner's aim was 
short, for the car disappeared from view over 
the crest. Then the second car made the trip, 
the German shells falling behind it just as they 
had with the first one. They both got out in 
safety, but no thanks were due to the Huns 
who had done their best to get them with heavy 
shells. That was one instance in which I saw 
the Germans shell two ambulances which could 

133 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

not have been mistaken for any other type of 
vehicle. 

Suppose a soldier is hit by a piece of shell 
or sniper's bullet while he is in a trench which 
his battalion is holding. He is first attended 
by the stretcher bearer nearest to him at the 
time, who should use the man's own aseptic 
dressing which each soldier is compelled to 
carry in the lining of his coat or tunic. The 
injured man is then taken to the dugout of the 
M. O., if necessary on a stretcher, where the 
M. O. rearranges the dressing, gives a dose of 
morphine if pain is severe, and after seeing that 
all hemorrhage is stopped and the man is com- 
fortable, he hands the case over to the field am- 
bulance stretcher bearers who always serve him 
and live in an adjoining dugout. This squad 
carries the case back — through the trenches if 
there is no hurry, but overland if haste is im- 
portant — to the advanced dressing station of 
the field ambulance. If this should be a par- 
ticularly hard trip it may be done in relays. 
For there relay post dugouts are established 
with other bearer squads. 

The A.D.S. is usually situated a mile or so 
134 



CARING FOR THE WOUNDED 

in the rear of the trenches, preferably in a large 
cellar, but at any rate in a fairly well sheltered 
area where cots are ready to receive fifty or 
more patients. At the A.D.S. one or two of 
the medical officers of the field ambulance are 
stationed with a large staff of men. The pa- 
tient is here made comfortable ; given coffee or 
cocoa; name, number and battalion recorded; 
and finally he is inoculated with anti-tetanic 
serum. This has practically wiped out tetanus, 
or lock-jaw, which was very prevalent at the 
beginning of the war. He is kept here till a 
convenient time, which may be after dark, 
when he and any others who may have come 
in are put into ambulances and taken to the 
M.D.S. — main dressing station — of the field 
ambulance, another two or three miles behind. 
The M.D.S. may be in some old chateau, or 
in a group of huts, or, if the weather is mild, 
in tents. Here a light case, or slightly wound- 
ed man, may be kept for a few days and then 
sent back to the line or to a rest station to re- 
cover his stamina and quiet his nerves. But 
if the case should be a serious one, such as a 
shattered leg or arm or a large flesh wound 

135 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

that will take a considerable time to heal, he is 
again transferred by ambulance to the CCS. 
— Casualty Clearing Station — another two to 
four miles back. 

The CCS., usually in huts or tents, is the 
first real hospital behind the firing zone. It 
may have accommodation for a couple of hun- 
dred patients; is supplied with X-Ray equip- 
ment, a well-arranged operating room with ex- 
pert surgical assistance, and is the nearest place 
to the line that trained nurses are sent. Here 
for the first time since he left the line the pa- 
tient gets all those little motherly attentions 
that only a woman can give. The injured man 
may be kept here days, weeks, or even months 
if he happens to be a case that would be en- 
dangered by moving. All immediately neces- 
sary operations are at once performed, and 
often a seriously wounded man from the firing 
line may be lying anesthetized on the operat- 
ing table of a CCS., being operated upon by 
expert surgeons within two or three hours of 
receiving his injury — practically as good at- 
tention as this type of injury would receive in 
civil life. 

186 



CARING FOR THE WOUNDED 

This is particularly the case where a man has 
been wounded in the abdomen, from which 
wound he may quickly develop peritonitis and 
reach the valley of the shadow of death in a 
few hours if prompt attention is not given. It 
is also done in cases of head or lung injuries, 
or in any wound causing uncontrollable hem- 
orrhage. In any of these emergencies, after 
the M. O. in the line has given all immediately 
necessary attention, the patient is ticketed 
SERIOUS by him, and he is rushed with all 
speed to the A.D.S., perhaps at great personal 
risk to the stretcher bearers. Here he is quick- 
ly transferred to an ambulance which may have 
to rush him over heavily shelled roads, missing 
the main dressing station altogether, and tak- 
ing him direct to the CCS. for his life-saving 
operation. 

After varying periods in the CCS. the pa- 
tients are sent by ambulance trains, which run 
almost to their doors, to base hospitals at the 
rear. From here they are re-transferred to 
hospital centers in England and Scotland. 

So much for the methods used in caring for 
the wounded in the lines during stationary pe- 

137 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

riods. The same principles and methods are 
employed during big advances, but of course 
on a larger and more thorough scale. All the 
arrangements are made during the weeks pre- 
ceding a push; extra stretcher bearers are 
trained; the field ambulances increase their 
staffs, particularly just behind the firing lines, 
in order that the field may be cleared of wound- 
ed at the first lull in the fighting. The whole 
intricate system is so complete and so well ar- 
ranged that hundreds of cases may be rushed 
through in a few hours, some of them being 
comfortably in bed in English hospitals the 
evening of the day on which they received their 
"Blighty." 

It must be remembered that in actions of a 
severe nature, such as great advances, the first 
object of the advancing troops is to obtain 
their objective and to hold it. Therefore care 
of the wounded may not be possible till the ac- 
tion is over. But during these hours the 
wounded are by no means without attention. 
It is here that the battalion stretcher bearers 
do their finest and most self-sacrificing work. 
They go over the top with the fighting troops, 

138 



CARING FOR THE WOUNDED 

and as the men are hit it is their duty to give 
them first aid, while the fight still goes on, with 
machine-gun bullets whistling by their ears and 
shells bursting all about them. Their duty it 
is, and nobly they perform it, to dress the 
wounded, stop bleeding if possible, and tempo- 
rarily set fractures. Then they place the 
wounded men in the most protected side of a 
shellhole, or in any other sheltered spot, and 
pass on to the next needy one, after placing 
any bit of available rag on a stick or old bayo- 
net to attract the attention of the field clearing 
parties who come over that area. In the mean- 
time the wounded who can walk — walking 
cases — make their way to the point at which 
the M.O. is caring for the injured. After get- 
ting the required attention, they walk on back 
to the A.D.S. of the field ambulance. 

At the first lull in the fighting it is the duty 
of the medical officer to see to the clearing of 
the field of those wounded who cannot walk. 
Any men going to the rear for supplies, and 
any German prisoners, are commandeered by 
the M. O. as stretcher parties. In big actions 
his own trained stretcher bearers are employed 

139 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

only as dressers. In the battle of Vimy Ridge 
which began at 5 :30 a. m., it was twelve hours 
later ere all the wounded on our front were 
evacuated to the field ambulances. That was 
quick work when one considers that some bat- 
talions, including my own, had 35 per cent, of 
their men hit. One hundred German prisoners 
were sent up under escort to act as stretcher 
bearers, and gradually the field was cleared. 

The only difference between the handling of 
the wounded during actions and during sta- 
tionary warfare is the fact that in the former 
more unavoidable congestion takes place, 
though this is prevented as far as possible in 
the forward areas by rushing the cases to the 
rear or to England. In big actions, where 
many wounded are expected, this is always 
done. 

After hospital treatment in England or 
Scotland the men are sent to convalescent 
homes in Ramsgate, Heme Bay, Whitstable, 
Sturry, Brighton, or any of the hundred and 
one other points that are suitable in the Brit- 
ish Isles. Later these men are sent before 
medical boards which decide as to their dis- 

140 



CARING FOR THE WOUNDED 

posal thereafter. They may be sent directly 
back to duty; to prolonged rest; to have some 
weeks, P.T. — physical training — which is not 
popular with the men, but is often needed ; or, 
they may be marked P.B. — permanent base 
duty — which means that they are not fit for 
general service, but are able to perform some 
duties at the base or at home. Lastly, they 
may be discharged as permanently unfit for 
further service, the amount of their pensions 
being decided by the pension board. 

Until the wounded man reaches the CCS. 
his wounds are dressed in very rough surround- 
ings, not the aseptic dressing rooms of peace 
times. Dugouts, cellars or open trenches are 
employed for dressing stations. After the bat- 
tle of Vimy Ridge my boys and I dressed our 
men for four days in an open, muddy trench, 
with the shells dropping about all the time. 
Dugouts are simply holes in the ground, and 
may be most primitive dressing rooms. Every- 
one knows how aseptic the ordinary cellar could 
be made, even with the greatest care on the 
part of an M.O.'s assistants. But our dress- 
ings are folded and wrapped in such a man- 

141 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

ner that they can be applied, even though the 
dresser's hands are covered with mud, without 
the aseptic part of the dressing, which is ap- 
plied to the wound, being in any way soiled. 
I have given one hundred and fifty inocula- 
tions hypodermically for the prevention of ty- 
phoid in a tent in which the men and myself 
stood ankle deep in mud. Not one case of in- 
fection of the point at which the needle was in- 
serted occurred. This illustrates the efficiency 
one reaches from being accustomed to working 
in filthy surroundings. Your stretcher bearers 
and dressers become as skilled in this art as 
yourself, so that the men really get good at- 
tention in spite of the many difficulties in the 
way. Of course, at the C.C.S., which is five to 
ten miles from the trenches, the surroundings 
are as good as they are in the average city hos- 
pital. And the base hospitals are often elabo- 
rate in their equipment, though they may be 
situated in large tents or newly constructed 
wooden huts with stoves to lessen the raw cold 
of the French winter weather. The base hos- 
pitals in England are the highly scientific city 
hospitals, simply put under military control. 



CHAPTER XII 

CHEERFULNESS 

SOMETHING that is noticed by all who 
have served at the front is the drollery of 
the men in dangerous or uncomfortable sur- 
roundings. Sometimes it is good-natured, 
sometimes ill-tempered and critical, but it is 
ever present. One cannot but believe that the 
wag of the company is better than a tonic to 
the men, in fact is almost as good a pick-me-up 
as the rum ration. Who has not felt the benefit 
of a good laugh? Who has not seen a well-de- 
veloped sense of humor save a difficult situa- 
tion, or at least alleviate it? 

With Tommy the humor crops out in the 
most unexpected situations. Under circum- 
stances in which the ordinary man would turn 
ghastly pale, Tommy cracks a joke. Crossing 
an open space toward a railway embankment 
I was fifty yards or so from a culvert through 
which I had intended passing, when a soldier 

143 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

reached it. He was carrying a load on his 
back, and was sucking on a pipe, his head 
bowed in thought. A whizz bang shrieked by 
me, and struck just at the entrance to the cul- 
vert, missing him only by inches. Fortunately 
it banged into the earth four or five feet be- 
yond his position at the moment, so that the 
fragments spread from him, not towards him. 
He had escaped death by a hairbreadth. He 
stopped in his path, took his pipe from his 
mouth, raised his head and looked with a sur- 
prised air at the hole in the ground made by 
the bursting shell. His only comment was ut- 
tered in a slow voice : 

"Well, I'll— be— jiggered!" And putting 
his pipe back into his mouth, he coolly resumed 
his walk and his meditation, without altering 
his course by one inch. Thus do men come to 
accept narrow escapes from death as a matter 
of course, where such escapes are as common as 
is plum jam in the rations. 



The men are plodding along in thick tena- 
cious mud, carrying sixty-pound trench mor- 
tars, each foot with its accumulated mud weigh- 

144 



CHEERFULNESS 

ing at least twenty pounds, and feeling as if it 
weighed a ton. They are sweating, and blow- 
ing, and tired. They halt for a rest and lean 
up against the wet, muddy wall of the trench, 
carelessly chucking the heavy mortars into the 
mud. Then the wag begins by cursing the 
bally war, consigning the officers to perdition, 
condemning the food as unfit for "villyuns," 
and wishing the Kaiser "wuz in 'ell." "And 
the blighters hexpect hus to stand an' face the 
henemy. An' ye betcher life we'll do it too, 
coz we couldn't run if we want to : we're stuck 
in the mud!" A smile passes along the tired 
faces; their rest is over, and more or less re- 
juvenated, they take up their burdens and pass 
on. 



Coming out of the front lines one day when 
we were relieved by another battalion, my cor- 
poral and I were going along a support trench 
when we came up with some officers of our 
battalion who were leaning against the parapet, 
waiting for the Germans to let up shelling the 
trench twenty-five yards in advance of us. 
We joined the other officers, and were soon 

145 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

joined by about sixty men who were trying to 
get out the same way. The Germans were per- 
sistent, so we all finally turned back to go out 
by another trench. The shells followed us 
along the trench, for which reason none of us 
slackened our pace. As we hurried along a 
rich Scotch voice said loudly enough for all to 
hear: 

"By G , these Hun shells are better than 

the pipes to make us march." 



Passing along a muddy support trench, re- 
turning from a tour of inspection, we came 
upon a fatigue or working party of soldiers 
digging an ammunition dump. They were 
working on a ridge, and as it was a bright day 
they could be seen much of the time by the Ger- 
man snipers and might at any moment get some 
shells or bullets thrown into their midst. It 
was hard, dirty and dangerous work, but ban- 
tering voices reached us : 

"What did you do in the great war, papa?" 
asks one. 

"I dug 'oles, m'son," replies another. 
146 



CHEERFULNESS 



"But that's not as bad as 'avin' 'oles dug in 
ye," adds a third. 

"You're bally-well right, it's not," says a 
fourth. And the work proceeds. 



Humor, of course, is not limited to the ordi- 
nary ranks, O.R.'s as they are called officially. 
Our battalion was putting on a big raid, "a 
show." In the end it was carried out very suc- 
cessfully, but owing to the fact that it was a 
daylight raid, and that a smoke barrage was 
to be employed, the wind had to be taken into 
account, and the raid was put off from time to 
time. Code words had to be arranged to be 
telephoned by brigade to the battalion. Codes 
are employed because of the danger of the Ger- 
mans picking up the messages by a special ap- 
paratus for that purpose. An English officer 
present at the meeting to discuss plans sug- 
gested the following code which was employed : 

If the raid was to be indefinitely postponed 
the word Asquith was to be used, meaning, 
wait and see. The word Haldane was em- 
ployed with the signification, put off until to- 
morrow. And when it was finally decided to 

147 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

be put on, Lloyd George was the code word 
which meant, to be carried out at once. 

Anyone familiar with British politics during 
the war will agree that it was rather a neat 
code. 



And it is said that a French Canadian com- 
manding officer, in whose battalion a murder 
had been committed, had inserted in his orders 
of the day the following bit of unconscious hu- 
mor: 

"It is to be regretted that a murder has been 
committed in this battalion. This is the second 
murder in our Canadian forces. It is to be 
distinctly understood that this pernicious habit 
must cease forthwith." 



Many amusing stories are told of the con- 
tents of letters censored at the front. Usually 
all the letters of a company or section are cen- 
sored by the officers of the company or section. 
One of the best stories was told me by an Eng- 
lish officer. A Tommy of his section wrote to 
his beloved : 

148 



CHEERFULNESS 

"Dear Maggie: I'd a bally sight rather be in 
your arms than in this trench with a dead German !" 



I sat one evening smoking a cigar with a 
Canadian Colonel who was much incensed at 
the fact that he had served at Gallipoli where 
he caught an infectious diarrhea of which he 
nearly died, while in the meantime his other 
officers who served no better than he were dec- 
orated and promoted. 

"Manion," he said to me in an angry voice, 
"I was promised that if I went to the Mediter- 
ranean I would get promotion and any decor- 
ation they could get for me, and the only d 

thing I got was dysentery, and I wouldn't have 
got that if my superior officers had had the 
giving of it." 



A rather good story with a touch of dry 
humor provoked by a desire for justice is that 
of the lonesome soldier. One of our Tommies 
sent an advertisement to an English daily in 
which he hinted, rather than said, that he was 
a duty-loving Briton, honorably doing his bit, 
and being without friends in the world he 

149 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

would welcome a correspondence with some 
English girl. He implied that, as the diet was 
rough, a few comforts would not go amiss, 
signing his advertisement, "H. H., a lonesome 
soldier." He was rewarded by a mail large 
enough for Horatio Bottomley, accompanied 
by so many parcels that our mail department 
had to add another man to its staff to handle 
his portion. Instead of imitating the gener- 
osity of these English girls, and sharing his ill- 
gotten gains with his companions, he chose the 
selfish part, keeping most of the good things 
for himself, giving away only what he had no 
possible use for. And what was still worse, 
he started a correspondence with each of the 
priceless young things who had offered him 
their goods and their friendship. Had this 
been a fair and square correspondence it might 
have had nothing to condemn it. But though 
uneducated, he was sly enough to suit his let- 
ters to their recipients. To one he implied the 
possibility of a strong attachment; to another 
he was more reserved, speaking only of friend- 
ship; while to a third he would send a warm, 
date-making epistle, hinting at cozy hotels; 

150 



CHEERFULNESS 

all according to what he thought their letters 
to him showed him of their characters. 

This went on for some time, the lonesome 
soldier writing many letters daily, all franked 
by a kindly government, and all to be censored 
by a group of H.Q. officers. The friendships 
he had worked up were getting more friendly, 
the intrigues deeper, and the passions warmer, 

when Major E decided that in fairness to 

the young women and in justice to the wily 
Tommy he would put an end to this planning 
and plotting. So, in censoring the letters Ma- 
jor E saw that the warm, passionate let- 
ter to "My Beloved Maisie" was, by mistake, 
of course, put into the envelope of "Dear Miss 
Jones;" Miss Jones' letter put into that of 
"Darling Kiddo," and the latter's into "My 
Own Emmey's," and so on. The result was a 
rapid cessation of the letters and parcels to 
the lonesome soldier, and the straightening out 
of what otherwise might have been an inter- 
minable tangle. To the really lonesome sol- 
dier — and there are such — all consideration is 
due, but to such a one as this may justice ar- 
rive swiftly, as it did to him. 

151 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

Potash is a North American Indian. He 
was chief of his tribe, is very intelligent, well 
educated, and the best sharpshooter in his bat- 
talion. His intelligence is proven by the fact 
that he has never indulged in alcoholic drink, 
nor has he in any other manner allowed his 
close association with us whites of Canada to 
deprave him. In other words, he is a living 
refutation of the remark that the only good 
Indian is a dead Indian. If it were not for 
the copper tinge to his skin, one would take 
him for what he is, — a well-informed, educated 
North American. He is very proud of the 
fact that Sir Wilfrid Laurier, when Premier 
of Canada, presented to him and his bride at 
their wedding a silver tea set. 

Being the only Indian in his battalion he is 
treated with a good deal of consideration by 
all. Colonel Blank stood chatting to him one 
day, the center of a group of officers. 

"You are an Indian, Potash. Tell me why 
it is that alcohol has such a bad effect upon 
Indians in general.' ' 

"You know, Sir," seriously replied Potash, 
"that alcohol acts principally on the tissues of 

152 



CHEERFULNESS 

the brain. And so, the Indians having more 
brains than the whites, alcohol has a greater 
effect on them." The colonel and Potash 
joined in the general laugh. 



Often shells do not explode, and Tommy 
calls them "duds," but up to the declaration of 
war by the United States in April last, these 
duds often got the nickname, "American 
shells — too proud to fight." 



In the lines one often finds evidence of a 
prejudice against officers of the staff — nick- 
named "Brass Hats" by the boys — this preju- 
dice being due to the fact that Tommy looks 
upon staff jobs as being safety-first positions, 
and that the man in the line thinks, rightly or 
wrongly, that too many young fellows who 
should be doing their bit under fire remain at 
the rear through family pull or connection. 
There is also the impression that many of the 
staff only get under fire when they absolutely 
have to. Of course this is a much exaggerated 
idea, but that it exists is shown by the follow- 

153 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

ing humorous conversation overheard in the 
lines : 

"Say, Bill, did you hear that peace has been 
declared?" 

"Naw; nothin' to it; hot air; no sich luck." 

"Sure it has. Didn't ye see those two Brass 
Hats goin' along the trenches just now?" 

The Tommies call their helmets "tin hats," 
and on a certain occasion one soldier was heard 
to ask another if he thought a tin hat as safe 
as a Brass Hat. 

Of course in a war such as that of today mis- 
takes are inevitable at times. Occasionally bat- 
talions or companies are ordered to accomplish 
the impossible. The Charge of the Light Bri- 
gade has repeated itself more than once, and 
the staff get the credit, or discredit, for these 
mistakes. Sometimes it is the orders which 
cause the wag of the company to speak of these 
officers with his fine contempt. Everyone has 
seen Bairnsfather's picture of a subaltern un- 
der heavy fire in the front line, and at the same 
time having to answer a telephone message as 
to how many cans of apple jam had been sent 
in the rations in the past week. It seemed, no 

154 



CHEERFULNESS 

doubt, a ridiculous exaggeration, but is no more 
ridiculous than an order which came through 
one day to test out a certain rat poison, a sam- 
ple of which accompanied the order. The bat- 
talion receiving this command was at the time 
holding a very bad bit of line where the Ger- 
mans did much sniping and dropping over of 
pineapples, rum jars, whizz bangs, and so 
forth. The battalion was to test this poison 
with particular reference to the following 
points : 

1. Adequacy of eight tins per 1,000 yards 
of trench. 

2. Amount of bait consumed. 

3. Number of sick or dead rats seen. 

4. Post-mortem examination of dead rats. 

5. As to diminution of rat population, 
"staleness of rat holes might be taken as cor- 
roborative evidence of diminution." 

Then followed three foolscap pages of type- 
written directions along this line. (Foolscap 
in the foregoing is not intentionally sarcastic. ) 

Do you wonder that the men made jokes? 
Imagine, if you can, a battalion under very 
heavy fire night and day trying to carry out 

155 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

tests that might easily be carried out behind 
the lines as to the efficiency of a rat poison. 
Imagine a Medical Officer, while not attend- 
ing the wounded or sick, doing post-mortem 
examinations of dead rats, or estimating "the 
staleness of rat holes," with, perhaps, a Ger- 
man sniper trying to get a bead on him! 

Of course such an order as this, written by 
some theorist in a comfortable room two or 
three hundred miles from the bursting shells, 
would usually be stopped by the practical men 
of the staff. When one has inadvertently fil- 
tered through, as in this case, can those in the 
lines be blamed for talking about foolkillers? 
As is to be expected, the order was ignored un- 
til the battalion some time later received a re- 
minder. They protested that this test was sur- 
rounded by too many difficulties, and were told 
to "try it on a small scale." 

The gruff voice of the Regimental Sergeant 
Major said that he supposed they would send 
up "some small scale rats to try it on." As 
they were not forthcoming, that is as far as the 
order got. 

But though Staff Officers are disliked al- 
156 



CHEERFULNESS 

most as much as Medical Officers, Tommy 
must bear with them, even if it be with a poorly 
disguised sneer of disgust and tolerance; for 
an army without a staff would be as incredible 
and undesirable as sick and wounded without 
attention. No doubt, in spite of Tommy's hu- 
mor and banter, when the truth is told, both of 
the above types perform their duties as ably 
as they can according to their lights. 



While dining with the officers of C Com- 
pany one evening, I heard two of that com- 
pany's likable young subalterns arguing as to 
whether the rum ration, so popular with most 
of the men out there on cold winter nights, 
would, after the war, conduce to temperance in 
the nation. The argument grew quite hot, as 
it often did there, and one of the debaters stuck 
his helmet on his head, and strode to the en- 
trance of the dugout where he turned and 
clinched the argument with the sneering re- 
mark: 

"By gad, Smith, you know less about more 
things than any other man I've ever met," then 
made a victorious exit. 

157 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

And speaking of the rum ration, an old sol- 
dier once told me that, being the oldest man in 
his platoon, the serving out of the rum usually 
fell to his lot, whereupon he always took from 
his haversack a little tin vessel which held just 
the right amount for each man, thus showing 
his absolute fairness and impartiality. But, 
as he poured the liquor into the little cup, he 
kept his thumb on the inside, so that at the end 
of serving some thirty or forty of his comrades 
he had thirty or forty "thumbs" of the bever- 
age left as his portion — a form of humor, no 
doubt, better appreciated by himself than it 
would have been by the rest of his platoon, had 
they known how absolutely (im-) partial he 
always was, to himself. 



CHAPTER XIII 

COURAGE— FEAR— COWARDICE 

PRACTICALLY all men and most 
women are brave when the occasion re- 
quires it. Out there one sees many types of 
brave men. There are few cases of cowardice 
in the face of the enemy, though in all the 
armies in this great conflict men have been shot 
for this crime. Conscience may make cowards 
of us all, but war makes brave men of most of 
us. In this war the pampered few, as well as 
those who earned their bread by the sweat of 
their brow, have shown a courage unsurpassed 
in the so-called chivalrous ages that are gone. 
Death-dealing instruments have been multi- 
plied and refined by the inventive resources of 
our times till they have reached a stage of per- 
fection never even approached in the past. 
Aeroplanes, zeppelins, artillery, various types 
of trench mortars, mining, machine-guns, poi- 
sonous gases, liquid fire, and the many other 

159 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

means of killing and disabling our enemies 
have rendered this war the most horrible and 
terrifying in history. Yet it is rare at the front 
to see officers or men exhibit cowardice. With 
few exceptions all face death in its many forms 
with a smile on their lips, bearing at the same 
time indescribable hardships of mud, dirt, lice, 
work and weather with unbeatable stoicism. 
They are always ready to go forward with 
their faces to the foe, an irresistible army of 
citizen soldiers. The hardships are often more 
trying than the dangers, yet it is always an in- 
spiration to hear gay peals of laughter at the 
discomforts and hardships borne by men ac- 
customed to all the luxuries of comfortable 
homes and beloved families. 

Just at dark on a zero-cold winter's 
day our battalion arrived at some new frame 
huts on the edge of a wood. The huts had just 
been built; they knew not the meaning of 
bunks, stoves, or other comforts. The gray 
sky could be seen through many chinks in the 
war-contract lumber, and the frozen earth 
through cracks in the floor. After a cold sup- 
per of bully beef, bread, and jam, there lay 

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COURAGE— FEAR— COWARDICE 

down on the bare floor of the H. Q. hut to 
sleep as best they could, — the colonel, a crimi- 
nal lawyer of Vancouver; the second in com- 
mand, a lumber dealer of Ottawa ; an attached 
major, a lawyer of the same place; the adju- 
tant, a broker of Montreal; the paymaster, a 
banker of Kingston; the signal officer, a bank 
clerk of Edmonton; the scout officer, son of a 
well-known high court judge of Quebec; and 
myself. Not a complaint was heard, but jokes 
were bandied to and fro, and shortly the regu- 
lar breathing of some and the snoring of others 
testified that man may quickly become accus- 
tomed to strange surroundings. In the morn- 
ing the boots of all were frozen to the floor ! 

Men are brave because of many motives. 
When they are standing shoulder to shoulder 
facing an enemy, few of them flinch, no mat- 
ter how dark the outlook is at the moment. 
Their pride in themselves, their loyalty to their 
native land, their love of their comrades, and 
their hatred for the enemy combine to prevent 
them from allowing fear to conquer them. 
Fear, per se y is another matter. Practically 
all men experience fear under fire at times, but 

161 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

they grit their teeth and press on. The quality 
that makes them do this is what we call cour- 
age. Any man who could look into a hole in 
the ground into which you could drop a small 
house, and, knowing this hole was made by a 
large caliber shell, yet feel no fear on going 
through a barrage of such shells, is not a brave 
man; he's an imbecile. As Kelly said: 

"A man that's not afeard o' thim shells has 
more courage than sinse." 

But even outside of that natural fear of 
shells there is no doubt that at certain moments 
during the multitudinous dangers of war all 
men really feel afraid. It cannot be avoided 
if a man sets any value whatever upon his life ; 
999 out of 1,000 conquer that impulse to fly, 
and carry on, the thousandth allows the im- 
pulse to conquer him. He is thereafter brand- 
ed, "coward," unless he retrieves himself later. 
Instinctively the brave man is recognized by 
his fellowmen. In a dangerous advance there 
are usually a few who drop behind, hide in a 
shellhole or dugout till the danger passes or 
lessens, and then rejoin their unit, claiming to 
have been lost or stunned by a shell. In this 

162 



COURAGE— FEAR— COWARDICE 

way they escape being accused of, and per- 
haps shot for, desertion. It may be that these 
men are more to be pitied than blamed. Self 
preservation is the first law of nature, but it is 
a physical law, and the moral law that man 
must not be a coward overrules it. A few 
hours after the advance over Vimy Ridge, my 
corporal and I, while dressing wounded on the 
field, met a number of stragglers, all going 
toward the front lines. They gave various ex- 
cuses for being behind their companies, and 
some no doubt told the truth, but it is also cer- 
tain that a few had shirked. 

There is a legitimate nervousness, named 
"shell shock." The real cases of this condition, 
when they are extreme, are sad to see. An of- 
ficer or Tommy, who has previously been an 
excellent soldier, suddenly develops "nerves" 
to such an extent as to be uncontrollable. He 
trembles violently, his heart may be disorderly 
in rhythm, he has a terrified air, the slightest 
noise makes him jump and even occasionally 
run at top speed to a supposed place of safety. 
He is the personification of terror, at times 
crying out or weeping like a child. He is un- 

163 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

fit for duty, and will require rest for an ex- 
tended time. Some cases are not so extreme 
as this and may simply display sufficient ner- 
vousness to prevent their going on. 

Shell shock is brought about by the effects 
of severe shelling ; by being buried by an explo- 
sion of shell or mine; or by the killing beside 
the sufferer of a companion. In short, these 
cases are due to the subjection of the nervous 
system to a strain which it is unable to with- 
stand, making it collapse instead of resiliency 
rebounding. The extreme cases are pitiable to 
observe, and are just as ill as if they were suf- 
fering from insanity, or delirium tremens. It 
is doubtful if the man who has suffered from 
a severe attack of this malady is ever again fit 
to serve in the firing line. Only time can tell 
whether or not any permanent weakness will 
be left in the nervous system as its result. 
These are not cases of cowardice, though to a 
superficial observer they might appear so. 
Some of them six months later, after that full 
period of rest and care, still show marked tre- 
mor, a fast or irregular heart, are " jumpy" on 

164 



COURAGE— FEAR— COWARDICE 

the slightest sharp sound, and are generally 
unfit for service. 

It is interesting to study the psychology of 
the coward, but it is more interesting and in- 
finitely more inspiring to study that of the 
brave man. Brave men and courageous wo- 
men are so common, as this war has amply 
proven, that we may find plenty of material for 
this study. The women — God bless them, and 
sustain them — have to show more courage than 
the men; for they have to endure in patience 
the life-sapping tedium of staying at home, 
while their loved ones go into danger — and 
perhaps to death. They have not, as their 
men have, the variety of change, the interest 
of novelty, or the excitement of battle to sus- 
tain them and occupy their minds. Their duty 
is to wait, wait, wait — praying and hoping that 
a good and merciful God will spare their loved 
ones. Oh, you wives, and mothers, and sweet- 
hearts, who wait, the world owes to you much 
more of honor and thanks than it owes to the 
men at the front! You, in your sublime un- 
selfishness, prefer to see your beloved men- 
folks get the honors and praise, while you are 

165 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

content and happy to accept the reflected 
glory! 

Every country in the world believes that it 
has the fairest women and the bravest men, 
and, to make an Irishism, each is right in be- 
lieving it. It is only natural that each country 
should have a national pride in the deeds of its 
heroes, and this war will give to most countries 
enough acts of bravery and of chivalry to in- 
spire their youth for a few generations. 



Capt. Gammil was a handsome, dashing 
chap whose love of fine clothes, bright colors, 
silk pajamas — which he wore even in the lines, 
while the rest of us slept in our uniforms, ac- 
cording to orders — and immaculate cleanli- 
ness, gained for him the sobriquet, Beau 
Brummel. His farcical gayety was continu- 
ous, and rarely did he appear serious, even 
though a serious mien would have been more 
appropriate. His extremes of style made him 
a daily cause of humorous remarks on the 
part of his comrades ; and yet his courage was 
unquestioned. I have seen him coolly walking 
along, daintily smoking his special brand of 

166 



COURAGE— FEAR— COWARDICE 

cigarette, apparently as much at ease as if he 
were in his own smoking room, with the shells 
at the same time bursting all about him. Good 
stories were told of his careless fearlessness at 
the Somme and elsewhere, as he carried out his 
duties in tight corners with the sang-froid of 
a veteran. Here was a fellow one would take 
to be the lightest of the light, a poseur, a far- 
ceur, a dandy of the ladies, who could be as 
gay and light in danger as in London. He is 
the type of chap who was, no doubt, "a sissy" 
in the opinion of his fellow-schoolboys, but is 
in reality of the stuff that men are made. 

Major Billbower, an English bank-clerk 
who had lived some years in Canada, was 
rather the reverse of the above. He took life 
more seriously, and hardly a day went by that 
he did not put into the orderly room a com- 
plaint, great or small, until he got the name, 
"the grouser." Usually his complaints were 
on behalf of his men whom he seemed to think 
were always getting discriminated against by 
someone. Because he was of the rather ex- 
treme, unmixable, aristocratic type his men re- 
spected him rather than loved him (though he 

167 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

was a very likable chap to those who really 
knew him) but they would unhesitatingly fol- 
low him through hell-fire, for in danger his 
handsomely-chiseled features wore a scornful 
smile as he strode along, gayly swinging his 
cane, with the same air that he had worn in 
more peaceful days in Hyde Park. He had 
been decorated for conspicuous bravery, and 
well deserved it. On one occasion a large 
caliber dud shell struck in the doorway of a 
superficial dugout in which he was writing, and 
rolled to his feet. Without more than a glance 
at it, he coolly pushed it to one side with his 
foot, and continued writing. 

Corporal Pare, a red-headed Irish boy, was 
for a long time my sanitary corporal in the 
lines and out. He had been serving in the 
lines for sixteen months at the time of which 
I write, and was tired of it. He frankly said 
he was afraid to do certain things, but when or- 
dered to do them, he carried them out cheer- 
fully and smilingly. At the Somme he won 
great praise as a runner for carrying messages 
through heavy barrages, always appearing ter- 
rified at the prospect, but always getting 

168 



COURAGE— FEAR— COWARDICE 

through. Many a time inspecting the trenches 
with me he would say, respectfully: "Those 
pineapples are dropping in just ahead of us, 
sir. Hadn't we better turn back?" Perhaps 
to tease him, I would go on, telling him to 
"come along." "Very good, sir," he would say 
with a cheerful smile on his red face, and he 
would trudge along like a faithful dog. He 
was "homely" in looks, red-headed, not clever, 
and said he was afraid, but no more faithful or 
more dependable soldier ever went to the front 
than Corporal Pare. 

Sergeant Gascrain was a small, shriveled, 
sharp-tongued, five-foot-high, French Cana- 
dian who assisted me for some time. He was 
cynical as to the illnesses of the men, and 
treated them usually like so many cattle, be- 
lieving them all to be malingerers, till one day 
I reminded him that a man may often malinger, 
but that did not prevent him from occasionally 
getting sick. He apparently did not believe 
it, though he often cursed the rheumatism that 
afflicted his own joints. He said they all had 
"frigidity of the feet, with a big F." He was 
at times addicted to alcohol and every few 

169 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

months he lost his stripes because of intoxica- 
tion. Then he would labor incessantly till, 
by his good work, he won them back again. 
And when he did regain them he was as proud 
as if he had won his marshal's baton, until the 
next occasion when the great god Bacchus put 
him back to the ranks with one fell swoop. 
With all his faults he had an absolute disre- 
gard of danger. I sincerely believe that he 
thought that if a shell should strike him — well, 
so much the worse for the shell. At the Somme 
his cool, courageous work under heavy shell 
fire won for him, at the recommendation of a 
British colonel who had observed it, the mili- 
tary medal. But one deed he performed which 
I think deserved more praise than any other. 
While working on the field a Lieutenant 
Colonel was brought to him on a stretcher. 
The Lieutenant Colonel's wound was so slight 
as to cause a sneer to hover about the sergeant's 
lips as he dressed it. A stretcher squad car- 
ried the colonel to the rear, and another squad, 
under the sergeant's direction, carried a badly- 
wounded Tommy. An ambulance came for 
them. The sergeant had the soldier put in first 

170 



COURAGE— FEAR— COWARDICE 

and then the colonel. But the colonel angrily 
protested against the Tommy being allowed to 
go in the same ambulance with him. 

"Tres bien, monsieur" replied the sergeant 
in his quick, sharp tones, and turning to a 
stretcher squad, said, "Remove the officer." It 
was quickly done, the colonel staring in angry 
astonishment, the sergeant coolly continuing 
his work while the officer awaited the coming 
of another ambulance. In my opinion this act 
of an N. C. O. was worthy of a V. C. 

Major Peters. — This officer somehow im- 
pressed me as being without any semblance of 
nervousness under any conditions. He was al- 
ways an interesting study. If a shell burst in 
our neighborhood, close enough to make most 
of us "duck," Pete would go on serenely as 
if on church parade. Rather slow thinking, 
he was sure in judgment. He never made 
haste to give his thoughts tongue, "nor any 
unproportioned thought his act." He had a 
quiet, dry humor, and generous, kindly nature. 
He was invariably late on parade, and prob- 
ably improperly dressed. I have met him on 
one occasion wandering aimlessly across an 

171 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

area looking for his company, which he had 
somehow mislaid. If the orderly room gave 
out an order for some return to be made by; 
company commanders by 8 a.m., his was never 
in before 10, and then only after he had been 
reminded of the order. After the Battle of 
Arras he forgot altogether to put in his recom- 
mendations for bravery on the part of any of 
his men, though by a rush movement he suc- 
ceeded in getting them in on time. 

But with all these faults he had the respect, 
trust and confidence of everyone. He had 
won the M. C. twice for coolness and bravery 
in action. If the holding of the front line was 
a particularly risky proposition at any time, 
he would probably be the man in charge of the 
task. He was never found wanting when cool, 
courageous action was needed, and all knew 
it. Many are the good tales told of him in his 
early front line days. By night he would 
quietly wander off over the parapet by him- 
self, and an hour or so later would come stroll- 
ing back, after having had a good look into the 
German lines, and perhaps into some of their 
dugouts. In his slow voice he would give any 

172 



COURAGE— FEAR— COWARDICE 

valuable information, not wasting any words 
in doing it. On one of these trips, as he 
stepped back over the parapet he was met by a 
senior officer who, knowing his junior's char- 
acteristics, said, — 

"Well, Pete, what have you found out this 
time?" 

Pete sat himself down on the firing step of 
the trench and gave him all the information 
that he had. Suddenly the senior noticed that 
a pool of blood was collecting where Major 
Peters sat. 

"Are you wounded?" he cried. 

"Well, yes," Peters answered slowly, "guess 
they got me that time," and he rose and strolled 
carelessly along to the R. A. P. where his 
wounds were found to be serious enough to put 
him out of action for a few weeks. The Ger- 
mans had thrown a bomb at him. 

The major loved dearly going into danger- 
ous zones, just wandering off to see what he 
could see. After we had taken Vimy Ridge, 
but not yet progressed beyond it, we had out- 
posts on the German side of it, looking down 
on Vimy and other German positions, 400 or 

173 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

500 yards away. A good deal of sniping was 
going on against us, as our men were so much 
exposed on the side of the hill, where they had 
very little protection except an odd shellhole 
or a few feet of shallow trench here and there. 
Our battalion was holding this line, and I, on 
the day Vimy village was taken, April 13th, 
had occasion to make a hurried trip along this 
whole front, At one spot, where a trench two 
feet deep was the only protection from possible 
sniping or shell fire, Major Peters stood, lean- 
ing back against the parados, two-thirds of 
his body exposed, hands in pockets, gazing pen- 
sively across at the Vimy ruins. 

"What are you trying to do? Get your 
bally head blown off?" I demanded. 

Without looking around, or otherwise chang- 
ing his position, he replied in his slow voice : 

"I don't think there's anyone there to blow 
my head off." This shows his judgment, for 
he was right, as it proved a little later when 
our scout officer, followed by a single platoon, 
entered it. But it showed also his careless- 
ness as to danger, for at the moment he was 
only guessing, or surmising, that there was no 

174 



COURAGE— FEAR— COWARDICE 

one in Vimy, and at any moment he might have 
found it out to his sorrow. 

A few minutes after this the accidental ex- 
plosion of a Mills bomb killed one man, 
wounded two officers severely, and six men al- 
most as severely, and I was kept busy for some 
time attending to them. Having finished, I 
found Major Peters near me, looking long- 
ingly toward Vimy, into the ruins of which 

our scout officer, Lieutenant A ; our O. C. 

battalion, Major E ; and a platoon in 

charge of ever-smiling Lieutenant G had 

all disappeared. Major Peters was apparently 
impatient to go across, though he had no right 
to do so without orders. Leaving the wounded 
to be evacuated by my always trustworthy and 
fearless assistants, Corporal H and Pri- 
vate B , M. M., and their stretcher bearers, 

I joined him. Though I had even less right 
to go across than he, we dared each other to 
go, and off we went. An odd shell was fall- 
ing about and it was quite characteristic for 
Pete to remark, slowly and seriously, — 

"I don't mind dodging shells, but I do hate 
dodging that damned orderly room of ours." 

175 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

But he was as joyously gay as if he were a 
schoolboy going on some forbidden picnic. 

Without encountering a Boche we leisurely 
strolled through the ruined and deserted 
streets, passing here and there a dead German, 
and one Canadian who must have got lost, and 
been killed while looking for his own lines. 
On the main road was a wagon of heavy shells 
with its wheels interlocked with those of an- 
other wagon — both apparently deserted in a 
hurry by the fleeing Germans, for an officer's 
complete kit lay beside them. We passed the 
station and went on out 500 yards to where 
our platoon was "digging in." We joined 
them, and then wandered on for one hundred 
yards into what was to be the new No Man's 
Land, without ever having encountered a Ger- 
man. They had deserted the village by dark, 
and had not left even the proverbial corporal's 
guard behind. Guided by the major through 
the streets which were now in the shadows of 
evening we unerringly found our way back 
whence we had come, for he had the path-find- 
ing instincts of the North American Indian. 
On arrival we found that, while my absence 

176 



COURAGE— FEAR— COWARDICE 

had been unnoticed, poor Pete's had been, and 
for some minutes in the orderly room he was 
in hot water explaining matters. His ex- 
planations ended, as they usually did, by be- 
ing unsatisfactory, and our strict disciplina- 
rian adjutant, Major P , turned aside to 

hide a smile, and murmur, — 

"Poor Pete! Always in trouble." No 
matter what breach he ever made in the rules, 
Peters was always forgiven, for his sterling 
worth was too well known to allow anyone in 
authority to hold anger against him. 

One of the best stories told of him is so droll, 
and yet so typical, that it is worth repeating: 
He was attending a course of instruction with 
a number of other officers on measures to be 
taken during a gas attack. The gas expert 
had shown carefully how the gas masks should 
be put on quickly and correctly, and the offi- 
cers were applying them. They were in- 
structed to take off the masks, and to see which 
of them could have his on in the shortest time. 
To the surprise of all present the slow-mov- 
ing major had his mask on before any of the 
others. On inquiring of him how it happened, 

177 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

he admitted with that humorous dry smile of 
his that he had not bothered taking his mask 
off after the first trial. 

Capt. J. A. Cullum, C. A. M. C. 

Some twelve years ago when I was study- 
ing in Edinburgh, at Scotland's famous uni- 
versity, I occupied rooms at the apartment 
house of a bonnie little Scotch woman on 
Marchmont Road. Miss Anderson was a 
mother to us all. How well I remember her 
smiling, sweet face, above which her white hair 
made an appropriate halo, as she came in to 
do for us some kindly, thoughtful act. May 
she still be in the land of the living and happy ! 

In the next suite of rooms lived Jack Cullum 
of Regina, Canada, and for the last month 
before examinations, the regular lessees of his 
rooms having returned, he and I occupied the 
same suite. He was a square- jawed, firm- 
mouthed, good-looking chap, with a strong arm 
and leg, made strong by breaking bronchos 
on the western Canadian ranch where he grew 
to manhood and prosperity. He was blunt, al- 
most to a fault, but his w T ord was good, his 

178 



COURAGE— FEAR— COWARDICE 

mind fair, and his manners sociable. Other 
Canadians who were post-graduating there at 
the same time will remember many a gay eve- 
ning we passed in the old R. B, on Princes 
Street, that most magnificent thoroughfare in 
Scotland, with the old Castle which saw many 
of the happy and unhappy hours of poor Mary 
Queen of Scots as a background, Calton Hill 
and its unfinished Grecian architecture at one 
end, and that fine Gothic monument to Sir 
Walter Scott in the center. In all these jolly 
evenings dear old Cullum was foremost in 
pay-times and gay-times. 

In serious moments and in times of leisure, 
however, his mind often carried him back in 
happy reminiscence to his homeland where a 
pretty Canadian girl, whose photo he carried 
and often showed, was anticipating his return. 

When the war came Jack was among the 
first to come forward. He went across to 
France with a Western Canadian battalion. 
In the next year Cullum was decorated for 
conspicuous gallantry three times, twice by the 
King and once by the French Government 
with the Croix de Guerre. His first act of 

179 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

bravery was performed when the Huns blew 
up a mine in No Man's Land, injuring many 
of his battalion. He, heedless of danger — 
and orders — rushed over the top, and attended 
his men in plain view of the enemy, For this 
he was given the Military Cross by King 
George; and a bar to the M. C. and the French 
decoration came later for acts of almost reck- 
less courage. He was the first Canadian to 
win three decorations, and now he was thought 
to bear a charmed life by his comrades. Shortly 
after the last bit of ribbon came to him he ap- 
plied for transfer to the fighting forces, re- 
signing his commission in the medical corps, to 
accept a lower rank in the infantry. And just 
following this noble act, while sitting in a mess 
hut two miles behind the lines at Noulette 
Wood, a stray shell came through the roof, 
slightly injuring two other officers, and mor- 
tally wounding Cullum. His generous soul 
displayed itself to the last, for he absolutely 
refused to have his wounds dressed until after 
the others had been attended to, maintaining 
that his injuries were slight. And the gallant 

180 



COURAGE— FEAR— COWARDICE 

Cullum died in the ambulance on his way to 
the hospital. 

But of course they are not all the fine types. 
You occasionally meet what the English call 
a rotter, but his kind is exceedingly scarce. 
After all, the finest type is the ordinary com- 
mon soldier, without any special qualifications, 
who, day in and day out, night in and night 
out, performs the dirty, rough, hard, monot- 
onous, and often very dangerous, tasks of the 
Tommy; who does his duty, grumbling per- 
haps, swearing often, but does it without cow- 
ardice, without hope of honor or emolument, 
except the honor of doing his duty and doing 
it like a man. When his work is done he comes 
back, if still alive and well, to sleep in wet 
clothes, on a mud floor, under a leaky roof or 
no roof, often hungry, or his appetite satisfied 
by bully beef and biscuit. 

Yes ; with all his swearing, despite any lead- 
swinging, the finest type of all, the real hero 
of the war, is the ordinary common soldier! 



CHAPTER XIV 

AIR FIGHTING 

UP to the present the greatest aid given 
by the air service to any of the armies 
in this war is that of acting as scouts; or, in 
other words, the air service supplies the eyes 
of the army and navy. 

Much is said of the time when thousands of 
planes will be used as offensive weapons on a 
large scale. It is quite possible that in the 
future this will come to pass; but up to the 
present, spasmodic bombardments of fortified 
positions by a few planes, and the useless mur- 
der of non-combatants by German zeppelins, 
has been the limit of the attacking power of 
air fleets. There are spectacular fights in the 
air between airmen of the opposing sides ; and, 
when one considers the limited perspective of a 
man living in a seven-foot ditch, the monotony 
of such a life, and man's natural love of com- 
petition, one can easily understand the deep 

182 



AIR FIGHTING 

interest taken in these air duels by the men in 
the trenches. 

One sometimes sees six or seven battles in 
the heavens in one afternoon, and another 
dozen machines driven back by shells from our 
anti-aircraft guns. Tennyson's prophetic 
words, written long ago in Locksley Hall, are 
indeed fulfilled : — 

For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could 
see, 

Saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that 
would be; 

Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic 
sails, 

Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with 
costly bales ; 

Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rained 
a ghastly dew 

From the nations' airy navies grappling in the cen- 
tral blue; 

Let us hope that after this war for liberty 
and freedom has ended in the subjugation of 
militarism, his further prophecy in regard to 
"the Parliament of man, the Federation of the 
world" may also come true. 

When airmen fly over their opponent's lines, 
183 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

they are first met by shells from anti-aircraft 
guns and bullets from machine-guns, and be- 
tween the two they are often forced to return 
to their own side of the lines. It is a beautiful 
picture, on a clear day, to see these machines, 
swerving this way and that, diving, ascending, 
out of the path of this rain of shot and shell 
that greets them, though it rarely brings them 
down. The swaying machine, cutting its way 
through the hundreds of white and black puffy 
balls, caused by the bursting shells, is a sight 
for gods and men ; and the men, at least, never 
tire of watching it. 

A very amusing incident, in this connection, 
is told by the officers of a certain Canadian 
battalion of infantry. Their original Lieuten- 
ant Colonel, now a General, came of a well- 
known and able, though rather egotistical and 
bombastic Canadian family. When in the 
trenches this Lieutenant Colonel always in- 
sisted on being accompanied by his batman or 
a special runner whose duty it was to carry a 
Ross rifle ready loaded. When he saw a Ger- 
man plane soaring over No Man's Land toward 

184 



AIR FIGHTING 

him, anywhere from ten thousand to fifteen 
thousand feet in the air, he would cry : — 

"Quick, give me that rifle!" and, putting it 
to his shoulder, he would pump shot after shot 
in the direction of the distant airman. If the 
latter chanced to go back from whence he came, 
the Lieutenant Colonel would turn to those 
about him with a satisfied and triumphant smile 
of self-approbation: — 

"Ah, I've turned him back," he would say. 

When he learned, as he occasionally did, that 
he had been filling the sky with lead in a mis- 
taken effort to hit one of our own machines, 
it worried him not at all, for the knowledge 
he had that he had "turned back" hundreds of 
Hun planes prevented an occasional slight mis- 
take from damping the ardor of a spirit such 
as his. 

When the war is over he may rest assured, 
as he no doubt will, that no Canadian, no 
Britisher, yes, it might even be written, no 
man, had done more in this great war to ac- 
complish the defeat of the Hun than he ! 

Very often, while you are looking up at a 
shelled aeroplane, the bits of shrapnel and 

185 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

shell are heard thudding into the earth 
all about. On one occasion my commanding 
officer and I lay on the ground in a shower 
of this kind, while a short distance away a 
soldier of another battalion was severely 
wounded by a piece of shell casing. It is 
strange that more men are not hit in this man- 
ner, and the same remark may be made of the 
few who are wounded in proportion to the 
number of shells poured over in an ordinary 
bombardment. 

A young airman described his work to me 
as "much monotony, and a few damned bad 
frights"; and this may be taken as a descrip- 
tion of almost any branch of the service at the 
front. The phrase, "a young airman," is very 
appropriate in speaking of most of our heroes 
of the air, for they are often only boys of nine- 
teen or twenty years of age who, with the 
recklessness of youth, but the courage of vet- 
erans, risk their valuable young lives in dan- 
gerous reconnaissances or in battling with the 
enemy a mile or two in the air. Strange that 
buoyant, happy young fellows like these, with 
all their lives before them, should value the 

186 



AIR FIGHTING 

future less than those who have lived more than 
half of theirs. But this is the case; and it is 
stated, truly, that the steadiness of nerve of 
these heroic youngsters surpasses that of older 
men. 

One day we relieved the battalion in 

the lines, and as the trenches were veritable 

mudholes, Major P and I took to the 

fields and crossed overland to our rear lines, 
passing through our long line of Howitzers 
and field guns on the way. As our batteries 
were just about to open a heavy strafe on the 
enemy, to find out the strength of their artil- 
lery on this front, we sat on the edge of a 
shellhole to smoke a cigarette and watch the 
effect of the bombardment. The batteries 
near us had eight or ten men to each gun, using 
a small derrick to carry into the dark breech 
of the gun the heavy shell. This was pushed 
home, and behind it was shoved in the charge 
of guncotton. Then the metal door — for all 
the world like the door of a small safe — was 
closed and bolted. The range having been 
given from a row of figures called across by an 
artillery lieutenant with field glasses, the gun 

187 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

was brought to the proper level by one man 
turning a wheel, while another, gazing through 
a clinometer, told when the proper range was 
attained. Another man pulled a string, the 
gun belched forth its death-dealing load, and 
we watched the shell bursting a mile or two 
away over the German lines, with a flash, a 
great upheaval of earth, and a cloud of smoke 
high in the air. 

Presently to our right we heard a machine- 
gun playing its rat-a-tat-tat. Looking up we 
saw one of our own planes spitting its stream 
of fire at a large, red, German flyer that had 
been doing much damage to our machines on 
this front for some weeks. The Hun plane 
was above, thus having the advantage. Sud- 
denly his machine made a nose-dive downward, 
like a hawk swooping down on its prey, and as 
the German had speed very much in his favor, 
he quickly arrived at the position he desired. 
His machine-gun poured forth bullets, and to 
our horror we saw that the tail of our aeroplane 
was cut cleanly off by them, as though by a 
huge sword. The machine, having no guiding 
rudder, immediately turned nose downward, 

188 



AIR FIGHTING 

and we sighed sadly and felt sick at heart as 
we thought of the gallant young chaps falling 
rapidly to their death. 

It is always with a sinking feeling that you 
watch one of your own machines brought down. 
You can't be entirely without pity even for the 
enemy under the same conditions. For when 
a man dies in a charge, or even when he is 
mortally hit by a sniper's bullet or by a shell, 
he is either killed instantly, or he is brought 
back on a stretcher with hopes of recovery. But 
when an aviator is ten thousand feet in the air, 
carrying on a duel with a foe, it is often only 
his machine that is disabled, and while it noses 
down the long ten thousand feet, though it is 
only a matter of moments, he has time to realize- 
that death is about to conquer him, and not in 
a pleasant manner. 

Just before our unfortunate machine in this 
fight crashed into the earth one of the occu- 
pants fell or jumped from it. The other re- 
mained in his seat, facing his quickly-coming 
death with the same courage that made him 
take the chance. The tail of the machine, be- 
ing the lighter, came down more slowly and 

189 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

struck the earth not far behind the body to 
which it had been attached. 

In the meantime the German soared tri- 
umphantly above, but now he circled down, 
sailing close to the earth over his fallen oppo- 
nents, apparently to see the result of his work. 
Then he soared aloft again, as all about him are 
fleecy white clouds or puffs of smoke from the 
explosions of shells from our anti-aircraft guns 
in the neighborhood. They burst everywhere 
except in his quickly-changing path, and he 
sailed back over his own lines in safety. 

Stretcher bearers hurried forward from a 
nearby field ambulance dressing station to find 
that the man who had fallen from the machine 
was still alive, though probably fatally injured. 
He was hurried off to receive attention. The 
other was beneath the machine and beyond 
human aid. As the smashed machine was in 
plain view of the Germans it might at any 
moment become the target of their artillery, 
and the stretcher bearers here, as in all their 
work, showed an absolute disregard of personal 
danger. All honor to them! One-half hour 
later, being nearby with my corporal, we 

190 



AIR FIGHTING 

crossed over to the ruined aeroplane. Already 
the Royal Flying Corps had a guard on it to 
save it from souvenir hunters, and we were 
warned away, but were later allowed to go 
around it, and had a good view at close hand 
of its tangled mass of wires, machinery, and 
armament. There, with his youthful face look- 
ing up toward his Maker, lay the other occu- 
pant of the plane. Shortly his loved ones at 
home would receive the sad intelligence of the 
untimely, but honorable and courageous, death 
of this boy who gave up the life he was to 

live, the sons he was to father — "his immor- 

t 

tality," to use the words of Rupert Brook — 
in order to do his share in holding aloft the 
lamp of liberty and freedom. 

Sometimes it is difficult to say who has com- 
mand of the air at a certain section of the line. 
This big red plane, and a few others of its 
type, seemed to be speedier than any of ours 
on this front; but just as we have gradually 
surpassed the German in artillery, in the mo- 
rale of our men, in control of No Man's Land, 
and in general offensive power, it was only a 
matter of a short time till we again took con- 

191 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

trol of the air on this front, as we have on 
others. 

The control of the air depends in great part, 
not on the courage of the aviators, but on the 
efficiency of their machines. Two days later 
I saw this red plane, or one of its type, dar- 
ingly fly over our lines, and only about 300 feet 
above them — an exceedingly low flight over 
enemy lines. A scouting plane of ours, much in- 
ferior in speed and fighting power, but manned 
by some brave boy who cared not for his life 
so long as he did his duty, flew straight at the 
red machine. 

We watched in strained silence, while they 
circled about each other, their machine-guns 
spitting fire, and once they nearly collided, 
head on. The Hun decided to retreat, and 
flew back over his own lines ; and our man, or 
boy, sailed away in another direction to con- 
tinue the observation work he had been doing 
when the Hun came. Had our boy lost, his 
would have been just another name added to 
the long list of heroes of the Royal Flying 
Corps ; for his act, in risking his life in attack- 
ing a much speedier and more dangerous ma- 

192 



AIR FIGHTING 

chine than his own, was the act of a noble, 
courageous, fearless boy, well worthy of all 
praise, and of the finest decoration. Had he 
succeeded in downing his enemy, luck would 
have been on his side, for success in fighting in 
the air, as in ordinary life, often depends on 
chance. 

Besides the courage displayed by the youth- 
ful members of the air service, they and their 
German enemy-rivals usually display toward 
each other a chivalry perhaps not equalled in 
any other branch of the army. It is partly 
due, no doubt, to the fact that the men who go 
into the air service, outside of their courage, 
are naturally lovers of the picturesque and 
spectacular. It is also due to the unconscious 
admiration one brave man has for another ; the 
pity which he must feel for a f ellowman whom 
he may shoot to his death ten thousand feet in 
the air; and finally, the knowledge that it is 
only a matter of time, if he remains in the 
service, till he meets a superior machine, if 
not a braver man, who may give him the same 
fate. This feeling does not prevent them fight- 
ing most fiercely, for each knows that while to 

193 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

the winner may come rewards and decorations, 
to the loser comes almost certain death. But 
if by chance they both escape through poor 
firing, exhaustion of ammunition, or that great 
element, chance, there is little or no personal 
hatred, but rather admiration for a brave foe. 

The greatest of British airmen, the late 
Captain Ball, V. C, D. S. O., told of a contest 
in which he and a German both exhausted 
their machine-gun ammunition without serious 
injury to either; and then, after having done 
their best to kill each other, they sailed along 
side by side, laughing one at the other, till they 
parted company with a friendly wave of the 
hand to return to their own lines. 

It was not uncommon, in the early part of 
the war, when one of our men was brought 
down behind the German lines, for the Ger- 
mans on the following day to fly over our lines 
and to drop a note telling us that Lieutenant 
Blank had been killed in a fight on the previous 
day, and had been buried behind their trenches 
with all military honors. Needless to say our 
airmen displayed the same courtesy toward 
their opponents. The knowledge thus given 

194. 



AIR FIGHTING 

often saved that depressing uncertainty on the 
part of the missing hero's relations and friends, 
which is more disheartening than the knowl- 
edge of his death. 

Personal bravery is not the monopoly of any 
one nation. The airmen of our brave French, 
Belgian, Italian, or Russian allies require no 
praise from my feeble pen ; and those of us who 
have been out there have seen too many inci- 
dents of the courage of our enemies to belittle 
them, and we have no desire to do so. They 
have often been barbarous in their uncalled-for 
cruelties and outrageous in their acts, but they 
have been sometimes brave, careless of death, 
and chivalrous. 

On one occasion I saw a German airman fly 
so low over our lines from the front to the rear 
that we could see him leaning out over the side 
and looking down at us in the trenches. Some 
companies of infantry in the front lines raised 
their rifles and peppered away at him. But he 
carelessly flew on toward the rear where a 
company of pioneers were digging trenches; 
and so struck were they at this reckless trick 
that they pulled off their helmets, and swing- 

195 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

ing them in the air, they cheered him. An- 
other instance of British — Canadian in this 
case — love of any brave act! 

The annals of our British air service are so 
crowded with tales of heroic deeds that they 
seem almost to dwarf the heroism shown in 
the infantry, artillery, or naval branches of our 
forces. Many stories worthy of the classic 
heroes are yet untold of boys twenty-one or 
twenty-two years old who grappled with their 
enemies in the clouds with the same undaunted 
fearlessness displayed by Horatius at the 
bridge in the brave days of old. 



CHAPTER XV 

STAFF OFFICERS 

NOW, the ordinary combatant officer who 
perhaps will read these lines may expect 
a diatribe against what the boys call, "the 
brass-hats," but, if so, he will be grievously dis- 
appointed. Outside the fact that Staff Offi- 
cers, like Medical Officers, are a necessary evil, 
the writer has the vivid recollection of one oc- 
casion on which he might have been court- 
martialed, and perhaps shot, for lese majeste, 
or something akin to it, but for the good humor 
of a well-known Brigadier 'General. So there 
will be no scathing denunciation of Staff Offi- 
cers here. 

At noon I was sitting in a dugout in the 
lines when I received an order to immediately 
relieve Captain , of the — steenth Cana- 
dian Battalion. The order gave no informa- 
tion as to the whereabouts of this Battalion, 
and as it turned out the order had been wrongly 

197 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

transmitted, and I had been directed to go to a 
Battalion which was not on our front. How- 
ever, I did not know this at the time, and so, I 
quickly got my things together, hung my steel 
hat, my cap, haversack, pack, overcoat, stick, 
and other odds and ends on various parts of 
my person, — for an officer, like a private, 
seems to be made to hang things upon. 

To get out of the lines to where I was to be 
met by an ambulance was a long, hard trudge. 
The ambulance was over one hour late, and 
hours followed in which we searched everywhere 
to find a trace of the Battalion. Night came on 
and we were still searching, and as no food 
had accompanied us, and a mixture of snow 
and rain was falling, I was cold, wet, hungry 
and pugnacious, when I entered a Headquar- 
ters in order to try to get some information. 
Forgetting I was only a Captain, and stalking 
angrily in, I demanded: — 

"Where the hell is the — steenth Battal- 
ion?" An officer rose, came forward and 
smilingly asked me what the trouble was. 

"I have been hunting for hours," I replied 
hotly, not even looking for his rank, "search- 

198 



STAFF OFFICERS 

ing for this bally Battalion, and I'm fed up to 
the neck with being pushed around like a bas- 
ket of fruit," for I had had many moves re- 
cently. 

"And a pretty healthy looking basket of 
fruit you are, too," he returned with a good- 
humored laugh, while he proceeded to put me 
on the right track, and at last I noted his rank. 
He was the General of my Brigade. So now 
you have the reason that I will say nothing 
against Staff Officers. 

A story akin to this of an incident that hap- 
pened in one of our trenches may be worth 
relating, though it has nothing to do with Staff 
Officers. My Colonel who always, even in his 
busiest times, had a vivid sense of humor, was 
sitting in his dugout when a Tommy's voice 
yelled down: — 

"Say, Bub, how do we get to the Vistula 
railhead from here?" The Colonel's voice 
floated up giving directions. But the Tommy, 
thinking he was talking to another Private, 
said : — 

"Oh, say, Bub, don't be so damned lazy, 
come up and show us the way," and the con- 

199 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

sternation of the Tommy as the Colonel good- 
naturedly came up and showed him the way 
was good to look at. 

On a drizzling, rainy day when our Bat- 
talion occupied the front lines on part of the 
Vimy Ridge, I was standing in front of a so- 
called dugout, which consisted of a room about 
twelve feet by twelve, in which, through lack of 
space, two Medical Officers and their four As- 
sistants and two batmen, ate, slept, and at- 
tended the wounded and sick. We were shel- 
tered from shells by a tin roof, on which some- 
one had piled two layers of sandbags. 

The trenches were of sand with no revet- 
ments of any kind, so that the rain, which had 
been pouring for days, washed the earth down 
and formed mud to the knees. Sometimes the 
mud was rich and creamy, and, except for the 
fact that whoever happened to be in front of 
you spattered it in your face, it was easy to get 
through. The other variety of mud was muci- 
laginous and tenacious, and in getting through 
it one was very likely to lose his boots — par- 
ticularly if they were the long rubber kind — 
and socks, or to get stuck fast. There were 

200 



STAFF OFFICERS 

many cases where men had to be dug or pulled 
out; and not one but many men, and on one 
occasion an officer, came into this dugout of 
mine during the night in their bare feet. They 
had come for hundreds of yards in some cases 
in this manner. 

On the day of which I speak I was stand- 
ing in the creamy mud half way to my knees 
listening to the sharp crack made by bullets 
whizzing over head, and to the singing of shells, 
by way of a change from the rather poisonous 
atmosphere in the dugout, made offensive by 
the carbon monoxide from a charcoal fire, when 
I heard someone splashing along through the 
mud. 

Looking up, I saw three Staff Officers with 
the distinguishing red bands on their caps, for 
they were not wearing helmets. Two of them 
wore raincoats, so that their rank could not 
be seen; the third wore no overcoat, but an 
ordinary officer's uniform with ankle boots and 
puttees. He strode doggedly behind the oth- 
ers, apparently caring nothing for mud or 
rain, and to my surprise he had upon his 
breast, though he looked no more than twenty 

201 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

years of age, the ribbons of a number of dec- 
orations. 

They stopped just before they came to 
where I was. Taking out a map of these 
trenches they and their guide, or runner, be- 
gan studying it, while I stood wondering how 
a boy of twenty could have won these coveted 
decorations, finally deciding that he must be 
in the Air Service. While I was still wonder- 
ing he turned to me, and, though he was of 
my own rank, he saluted and, with a pleasant 
smile, asked me if I could give them any in- 
formation as to this front. I joined them, and 
for some time I answered their questions, 
which, rather strangely, were in regard to a 
cemetery to which Guillemot trench — the one 
in which we stood — led on its way to the firing 
line 500 yards away. 

"After we go there," asked one of the older 
officers, "what is the easiest way out?" 

I explained that the easiest way was over- 
land to Neuville St. Vaast, and then down the 
road, but as we still heard the bullets passing 
a few feet above the parapet it might not 
be the safest. He smiled whimsically, and 

202 



STAFF OFFICERS 

said he would personally rather take the risk 
than plow through this dreadful mud, but 
perhaps they'd better stick to the trenches. We 
chatted a few moments more, and they put 
their feet once again to the task of getting them 
through the trenches, the rather thin legs of 
the young officer pushing him determinedly 
along behind the others. 

That evening the Colonel informed me that 
he had learned at Brigade that my questioner 
of the afternoon was the Prince of Wales, 
who is Honorary Chairman of a Commission 
in charge of British cemeteries in France. And 
this removes, for me at least, the idea which 
many of us had that, while the Prince is in 
France, he is kept well out of the danger zone. 
For on this day he was well up toward the 
front lines and under filthy trench conditions 
at that. A Prince with as much red blood in 
his veins as he displayed in making that jour- 
ney should not have enough blue blood to pre- 
vent his being some day a strong and righteous 
monarch. 



CHAPTER XVI 

THE BATTLE OF VIMY RIDGE 

ON Easter Monday, April 9, 1917, oc- 
curred on the western front the great 
push which has been named by the press the 
Battle of Arras. For some days previously our 
bombardment of the enemy lines had been al- 
most continuous, the so-called "drum fire" 
which sounded like rolls of thunder. At times 
during the night the rumble would become a 
roar, and one of my tent mates would half 
awaken, and say: 

"Well, they're giving poor Heiny hell to- 
night," and the tone would almost imply pity. 
A grunt from the rest of us, and then we'd 
roll over on our steel-hard cots to try unsuc- 
cessfully to find a soft spot, and shortly the 
snores from one of the officers who was noto- 
rious for snoring would drown even the roll of 
the guns. 

Since the Somme advance in 1916 no great 
204 



THE BATTLE OF VIMY RIDGE 

pushback of the Germans had occurred. After 
all the many and great preparations had been 
completed, an attack was now to be made on 
a ten-mile front north and south of the ruined 
city of Arras by British and Canadian troops. 
To the Canadians fell the lot of taking the 
famous Vimy Ridge which they, with the ab- 
solutely necessary assistance of almost unlim- 
ited artillery, successfully took, consolidated, 
and held, on Easter Monday, April 9. 

The argument which sometimes occurs as to 
whether the artillery or infantry did the great- 
er work in the taking of the Ridge is beside 
the question; one was as necessary as the 
other. The artillery could have hammered the 
Ridge until it became absolutely uninhabitable 
by the enemy, but the artillery could not con- 
solidate and hold the Ridge, which could be 
done only by foot-soldiers. Without the prop- 
er aid being given by artillery, no foot soldiers 
in the world, be they ever so valorous, could 
have taken this strongly fortified hill. 

The taking of this Ridge was considered a 
most difficult achievement for the reason that 
the French in 1915 nearly captured it, but with 

205 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

losses estimated unofficially at from 150,000 to 
200,000 men. Anyone who has been in this 
neighborhood and has seen the areas dotted 
with equipment and bones of killed French 
soldiers, and the trenches marked at almost 
every turn by little white wooden crosses, 
"Erected to an unknown French soldier," by 
their British allies, could hardly doubt these 
figures. Then the Allies, after holding the 
conquered part of the Ridge for some months, 
were pushed off it by the Germans, who suc- 
cessfully held it till the Battle of Arras. 

Before this battle it was said that French and 
British were betting odds that the Canadians 
would not succeed in this project of taking the 
Ridge. These facts are not given in any spirit 
of rivalry or criticism, but only as points of 
interest and to give honor where honor is due. 
The Canadians certainly can never complain 
that they were denied their proper meed of 
praise by the British press and public for their 
work at Vimy, but neither can it be gainsaid 
that they deserved the praise accorded. 

The advance was to have taken place much 
sooner, but preparations were not complete. 

206 



THE BATTLE OF VIMY RIDGE 

Easter Sunday, then Easter Monday became 
the day decided upon, and 5.30 a. m. of that 
day was to be the zero hour, or hour of attack. 

Promptly at that hour the wonderfully 
heavy artillery barrage multiplied one 
hundredfold. Three minutes later the sol- 
diers began going over the top and following 
the barrage. So complete were the arrange- 
ments, and so successful every move, that ob- 
jectives were taken almost to the minute as 
planned, and returns coming in to Brigade 
H. Q. on the immediate front on which our bat- 
talion attacked were as optimistic as could be 
hoped for by the most critical. 

A little over one hour after the first wave 
of Canadians started across No Man's Land, 

our O. C, Lieutenant Colonel J , with an 

orderly room staff, signalers and scouts, start- 
ed for the German lines to open a battalion 
H. Q. at Ulmer House dugout, about 600 
yards behind the trenches which two hours be- 
fore this had been the enemy front line. I 
accompanied the party, for I was to establish 
a Regimental Aid Post somewhere near the 
H. Q. 

207 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

When we stepped out of the tunnel which led 
from Zivy cave to the center of No Man's Land, 
we had the misfortune to arrive in a sap — a 
trench leading toward the Hun lines — which 
sap at the moment of our arrival was being 
very heavily shelled by German artillery. As 
the sides of the sap were no more than two or 
three feet in height, and as the shells were 
dropping so close that we were continually in 
showers of mud from them, our party became 
broken up, leaving the Colonel and five of us 
together. 

Some two hundred yards on our way 
we stopped to rest. The Colonel and I were 
sitting behind a small parapet, our bodies 
touching, when a shell dropped beside him, 
pieces of it wounding him in five or six places. 
He pluckily insisted on going on toward our 
goal, but soon fell from exhaustion. The prob- 
lem then was to get him back in safety, for 
there had been no cessation in the shelling. 
Fortunately this was accomplished with no 
other casualties, with great pluck on the Colo- 
nel's part, and some slight assistance on the 
part of his companions. 

208 



THE BATTLE OF VIMY RIDGE 

Major P , M. C, then took charge, and 

with most of the original party set out for 
Ulmer House. Our route this time was slight- 
ly altered by dodging the unlucky sap and 
going directly overland. Stepping around 
shellholes and keeping well away from a tank 
stuck in a mud hole to our right, in order to 
avoid the numerous shells that the Germans 
were pouring about it, we proceeded on our 
trip through the German barrage, which was 
somewhat scattered now. 

In passing it may be said that on this imme- 
diate front, because of the depth of the mud, 
the only assistance given by the five or six tanks 
to the troops was that of drawing and localizing 
the enemy fire to a certain extent, and so mark- 
ing out areas of danger that it were well to 
avoid. None of them got even as far as our 
first objective, but remained stuck in the thick 
mud till they were dug out by hand. On hard 
ground they are no doubt dangerous weapons 
of war, but in this deep mud their only danger 
was to their occupants and to those about them. 

Our trip across this time was not particularly 
eventful. Veering this way and that to avoid 

209 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

the most heavily shelled bits of ground, step- 
ping over corpses of Germans, or, what was 
more trying, of our own Canadian boys, say- 
ing a word of comfort to some poor wounded 
chaps in shellholes, we gradually and success- 
fully made our way across the shell-devastated 
and conquered territory to Ulmer House. We 
suffered only two slight casualties, a wounded 
hand to the assistant adjutant, Lieutenant 
C , and a bruised chest to the signaling offi- 
cer, Captain G . 

A couple of hours later the shelling had 
ceased so completely that it was compara- 
tively safe for anyone to wander about the 
field which had so recently been the scene 
of one of the greatest battles in history. Here 
and there, in shellholes marked by a bit of rag 
tied to a stick, we found many of our own boys 
and the boys of other Canadian battalions who 
needed attention. Stretcher parties were made 
up, generally of German prisoners, and the 
wounded were cleared with all possible speed. 

One poor young chap we discovered late in 
the afternoon in an advanced shellhole, with 
his leg badly wounded and broken, he having 

210 



THE BATTLE OF VIMY RIDGE 

lain there from 6.15 in the morning. Yet he 
smiled good-humoredly and thanked us grate- 
fully for what we did, asking only for a cig- 
arette after we fixed him up. Field ambulance 
stretcher bearers and German prisoners under 

Captain K , M. C, of No. — Canadian 

Field Ambulance, worked tremendously to 
clear the field. Other working parties were en- 
countered at different points, all with the same 
object. 

In our rounds we visited all that remained 
of Thelus and saw some of the many cap- 
tured guns. One of the most interesting visits 
we made was to a cave at Les Tilleuls, near 
Thelus, which was being used as H. Q. for 
another battalion as well as H. Q. for C Com- 
pany of our own. Here Lieutenant J 

greeted us warmly but failed to tell us the de- 
tails of his own exploit, which has acquired a 
fame it well deserves and for which he received 
the Military Cross. Here is the story: 

Lieutenant J was second in command 

of C Company, the C. O. being "Old Pop," 
who was killed early in the fight, the command 
of the company devolving upon his subordinate. 

211 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

He is a boy of twenty-two, a bank clerk in 
civil life, as mild, gentle and good natured a 
lad as one could find in a day's march. He 
had led his men on till they obtained their ob- 
jective, and then he and a corporal who were 
scouting about came to this cave with its long, 
winding staircase. They threw down a couple 
of Mills bombs, drew their revolvers, and went 
down, to be confronted in flickering candle 
light by one hundred and five German officers 
and men, all armed. 

Bluffing that they had a large force up- 
stairs, they covered and disarmed the 105 
Germans, took them prisoners, and, hunting 
up an escort for them, sent them to the rear. 
Those are the cold, bare, undecorated facts. 
And then to complete as pretty a bit of work 

as was done at Vimy Ridge, Lieutenant J 

took a German carrier pigeon that he found in 
the cave, tied to its leg a message giving the 
necessary essentials, and finishing with the 
words, "everything bright and cheery," he 
freed it. It found its way to our battalion 
H. Q. at Ulmer House, where we had the 
pleasure of reading the note ! 

212 



THE BATTLE OF VIMY RIDGE 

To stand at the mouth of this cave and look 
about on all sides as far as the eye could see, 
and to know that all that shell-racked ground 
was won in a few hours by the citizen army of 
Canada made one feel a legitimate pride in 
being a native of that land. And the stories 
which kept dribbling in for days, as we held 
the line, of the gallantry of this man or the 
nobly inspiring death of that one, were of 
deep interest to us all. 

Of our own battalion we lost on the 9th, 217 
men out of a total of 657, and ten officers — not 
counting two who were slightly wounded — 
out of twenty-two of us. Three of our officers 
were killed outright: "Old Pop;" Lieutenant 
Beechraft, an American lawyer from Michi- 
gan, who often said to me with a confident 
smile: "The Germans have not yet made a 
shell to get me." And he was right, poor Tom, 
for I saw him lying dead that day on the field 
with a German rifle bullet wound in his head. 
The third of our officers killed was Major 
Hutchins, a man well past fifty, who had re- 
cently joined us and who had taken a Lieu- 
tenant's position of platoon commander in or- 

213 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

der to serve at the front. This was his first 
fight, and he was killed by a shell while leading 
his platoon across No Man's Land. All honor 
to his gray hairs, and may they ever be an 
inspiration to younger men! 

One of the best stories of this battle con- 
cerned a Canadian Brigade on our left under 

the command of Brigadier General H . 

This brigade on April 9 took all its objectives 
except one very difficult hill, No. 140, nick- 
named, because of its shape, the Pimple. The 
General of the division sent word to Brigadier 

General H that he was going to send in 

some British troops to aid him in capturing this 

hill. Brigadier General H is a bonnie 

fighter, an Anglo-Indian who has been living 
some years in British Columbia, and he has 
a temper much resembling an Irish terrier's. 
He curtly sent back word that his Canadians 
needed no assistance. Knowing him well, the 
General of division good-naturedly replied 

that if General H succeeded in taking this 

difficult hill they would give him the title Lord 
Pimple. The next day the division received 
the following message: 

214 



THE BATTLE OF VIMY RIDGE 

Have taken, am consolidating, and will hold Hill 
140. 

(Sgd.)' Lord Pimple. 

The main facts of this story can be verified 
in the official records of this division. 

I have a vivid recollection of General H 

when he was Lieutenant Colonel in command 
of the — th Canadian Battalion. I had been 
sent there to relieve the regular Medical Officer 
who was away on leave in England. Lieu- 
tenant Colonel H was also away on leave 

during my first few days' service with his bat- 
talion. 

On a certain day when we were being re- 
lieved from the front line opposite Bully Gre- 

nay I had not yet seen General H . On 

going out with my orderlies we were to pass 
along Damoisette trench, which was one of the 
front support trenches, and was an "out" 
trench that day. We found it blocked by 
some other officers of our battalion and a cou- 
ple of platoons, for this trench was being 
heavily shelled just ahead of the block. We 
joined the others and waited some time, when 
an officer said: 

215 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

"By G — , I take enough chances without 
waiting here for the Huns to drop those shells 
on our heads. I am going out Caron d'Aix," 
which was an "in" trench that day for this 
relief. But the relief was to have been com- 
pleted at 10 a. m., and it was then 10:15, so 
we would hardly cause any obstruction. This 
fact, combined with the fact that probably 
everyone, as is often the case, was waiting for 
someone else to propose going back, made us 
all turn about and retrace our steps. We were 
going along Caron d'Aix trench when I heard 
an angry voice behind me demanding: 

"Doctor, what are you doing in this trench? 
Don't you know that this is an 'in' trench?" 

I turned and saw a thin-lipped, square- jawed 
Lieutenant Colonel who, I guessed at once, was 
our returned O. C. I explained that Damoi- 
sette was being shelled heavily, that relief was 
complete, and that only three of the men ahead 
were mine. His face was quite dark and frown- 
ing, and I could see that he was debating as 
to whether he should give me a strafing, or pass 
it over. Finally, he said sharply: 

216 



THE BATTLE OF VIMY RIDGE 

"All right; carry on." 

That night at Bully I did not look forward 
with any great pleasure to my dinner, for I 
had heard of his reputation as to temper, and 
I expected he would say a few things to me, 
though, as Kelly well put it, "it's none of an 
officer's business to put his nose against an 
advancin' German shell." But I plucked up 
my courage and entered the H. Q. mess room, 
to be greeted in a kindly and friendly manner 
by Lieutenant Colonel H . 

"How are you, doctor? I have not had the 
pleasure of meeting you before," shaking my 
hand. 

"Pardon me, sir, but you met me in a trench 
today where I had no right to be." 

"No. You were quite right to be there. I 
made inquiries, and find you were right. And 
anyway, I had no damned right to be there 
myself." 

In the time that I remained with his bat- 
talion I found him always to be a courteous 
gentleman, but with an irascible temper. One 
would not be surprised if, since his becoming 
a Brigadier General, his temper is less touchy. 

217 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

And the incident of the Pimple shows that 
he is an efficient officer, well worthy of the land 
of his forefathers, and a credit to the country 
of his adoption and of his men. 



CHAPTER XVII 

A TRIP TO ARRAS 

ONE day toward the end of March, 1917, 
our battalion was in reserve in huts and 
tents at Bois des Alleux, a mile or so back 
of Mt. St. Eloy, so I took advantage of a fine 
afternoon to ride about the country. Making 
a detour through fields to avoid being stopped 
by some officious transport control, I came to 
the Route Nationale running from Bethune 
to Arras. 

To my surprise it looked like the Strand 
on a busy day, for it was full of marching 
troops, transport wagons, hurrying motor cars 
with staff officers, and double-decked mo- 
tor busses painted gray, full of Tommies, gay 
and happy, going to a railhead to enjoy a well- 
earned leave. One could not but wonder in 
what part of London these motor busses used 
to carry their passengers, and think how 
strange it was to see them now hurrying along 

219 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

a French road within shell fire of the Germans. 
As I rode along the well-paved route, our 
trench lines could be seen in the nearby fields, 
and the picturesque towers of Mt. St. Eloy 
were on my left, seen through the nets stretched 
from tree to tree to hide the traffic from the 
watchful eyes of the German observers. 

Riding toward Arras, eight kilometers away, 
I came up with an English officer riding in the 
same direction. When I joined him he was 
at first, as all English officers are, a little loath 
to be joined by a stranger, though the latter 
wears the same uniform. But gradually he 
thawed and became the likable, courteous chap 
that the English officer nearly always becomes 
on closer acquaintance. He informed me that 
one required a pass to enter Arras, but as he 
had one and was going in to see his command- 
ing officer, he offered to take me in as the med- 
ical officer of his battalion. Availing myself 
of this brotherly offer, I rode with him along 
the net-guarded road till we came to the out- 
skirts of Arras where a sentry allowed me to 
enter with him. We put up our horses at the 
old French cavalry barracks, now occupied by 

220 



A TRIP TO ARRAS 

British — not Canadian — troops, and then we 
started out to search for his C. O. 

We came first to what was once the at- 
tractive Boulevard Carnot, now "Barb wire 
Square," as it was nearly filled with this mate- 
rial to keep the soldiers out of it to prevent 
them from being hit by the German shells 
which landed there daily, either from the en- 
emy lines only 100 yards away, or from hostile 
aeroplanes. The Huns had the range of this 
street to a nicety. As we walked along the 
street shells bursting a couple of blocks away 
threw pieces of rock so near our heads that we 
were glad when we reached the end of it. 

We wandered about the streets, deserted by 
nearly all civilians except an old man here and 
there walking about with bowed head, or an 
old woman long past the days of her beauty 
being spoiled by the splinters of a shell. Ex- 
cept in a shop where I coaxed a young woman 
to sell me a souvenir spoon, in two hours I 
saw only one young woman in the streets. She 
was hurrying along with a parcel under her 
arm, paying no heed to the sharp, cutting ex- 
plosions of our 18-pounders nearby or to the 

221 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

explosions of the German shells a few blocks 
away. She looked for all the world like a young 
housewife returning home after a morning's 
shopping. 

The houses that lined the streets were nearly 
all closed. All of them showed marks of shell 
fire, some being completely demolished, others 
having only the rear walls standing with parts 
of the sides pointing outward like arms 
stretching forth for their loved ones. The im- 
mense station of the Chemin de Fer du Nord 
was a mass of ruins. The stone Cathedral was 
represented by the lower part of the tower, 
and a brass bell lying on the pavement, the 
bell that had in times of peace so often called 
the faithful to prayer. The Avenue Pasteur 
— France is a country that recognizes its sci- 
entists — showed few complete buildings, and 
ironically one noted the ruin that German 
shells had made of the Avenue Strassbourg. 

Here and there a stone barricade had been 
built, loopholes being left for machine-guns, 
to prevent a possible German advance. No- 
tices told all to keep near the walls and away 
from the open streets to avoid shell fire. Es- 

222 



A TRIP TO ARRAS 

taminets, cafes, epiceries, and restaurants were 
all damaged and closed. Joyful nights and 
gay days were things of the past in this shadow 
of a prosperous city. A la mode Parisierme, 
the sign over a ladies' suit store, was all that 
remained of the center of fashion of the women 
of Arras. 

Altogether Arras, which had been a well- 
built and modern city of 25,000 people, had 
become a deserted village. What shutters re- 
mained were closed and riddled with shrapnel, 
and the place had a sad, forbidding air, as if 
the inhabitants had flown because of some hor- 
rible plague. It reminded one of the ruins of 
Pompeii. In one square stood the pedestal 
only of a monument erected, it said, in 1910, 
"in honor of the sons of Arras who had died 
for their native land." When the monument 
is rebuilt the dead heroes in whose honor it 
was erected will have been joined by many 
comrades. 

I passed out of the walls, depressed by the 
unhappy wreck of a once prosperous city de- 
stroyed by the highly refined methods of war- 
fare developed by twentieth century German 
kultur. 

223 



CHAPTER XVIII 

RAGOUT A LA MODE DE GUERRE 
(Trench Stew) 

USUALLY hunting partridge or grouse 
is the pleasure only of those who remain 
at home; but one day, while sitting in a dug- 
out, I enjoyed a wonderful meal. 

Our dugout was in a communication trench 
some five hundred yards from the front line, 
and probably six hundred from the German. 
The dugout was one of those steel-roofed af- 
fairs, the roof forming a graceful semicircle 
of one-eighth-inch metal, covered with sand a 
foot thick, carelessly shoveled on. My order- 
lies were Corporal Roy, a Canadian boy of 
twenty; Private Jock whose well-developed 
sense of dry Scotch humor showed itself by 
his irritating the men about him by any meth- 
od of teasing which came easiest, but whose 
personal good nature and loyal love of doing 
his duty, be it the most arduous and dan- 

224. 



RAGOUT A LA MODE DE GUERRE 

gerous, made everyone forgive him any of his 
annoying tricks; and my batman, Private 
John, a decent, clean and brave Canadian boy 
who, by the way, was one of the best men I 
ever had to look after my comforts, or lessen 
my discomforts, whichever way you choose to 
put it. 

This fine, cool winter day we had been 
standing at the door of our dugout peeping 
over a comparatively safe bit of parapet, 
watching some of our sixty-pound trench mor- 
tars hurtle through the air and burst in the 
German lines. At last, tiring of the perform- 
ance, I went inside and sat down to read one 
of Jeffrey Farnol's latest books. A few min- 
utes later Roy came hurrying in, grabbed his 
rifle, and went racing out again. Wondering 
what was the cause of this strange behavior, 
and hearing a shot, I went out. 

Turning into the main communication 
trench, I was just in time to see Corporal Roy 
climbing back over the parapet with a plump, 
dead partridge in his hand. Only those of you 
who have been living for some months on army 
rations can appreciate the glorious anticipa- 

225 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

tions which a fat, plump partridge can conjure 
up in one's imagination. His rifle was leaning 
against the parados, and Roy explained to us 
that he had seen two partridges, but had only 
succeeded in getting one. His impatience get- 
ting the better of his judgment, he did not wait 
till dark to go out and get his prize, but went 
over the parapet in plain view of German 
snipers only six hundred yards away, and 
brought in his bag of game. 

The partridge was cleaned by John and 
Jock and with the addition of a little mutton 
and carrots from last night's rations, I made a 
stew of it. All agreed — perhaps my boys 
didn't dare to disagree — that it was delicious. 

This is the recipe for Ragout a la mode de 
guerre: Shoot a partridge over the parapet 
on a bright day; take your life in your hands 
to go out and get the victim; clean it — but 
not too clean; mix with it a little mutton and 
carrots; stew it in a canteen or dixie over a 
charcoal brazier, with plenty of the penetrat- 
ing charcoal fumes entering your lungs; and 
perform all these rites in a dugout with enemy 
shells popping about in the neighborhood. If 

226 



RAGOUT A LA MODE DE GUERRE 

you have carefully carried out all these direc- 
tions, then, being sufficiently hungry, add a 
goodly portion of that most savory of sauces 
— appetite — to the dish. I promise you that, 
though your tastes are blase to the last degree, 
you will admit that Ragout a la mode de 
guerre makes a meal fit for the discriminating 
palate of a king. 



CHAPTER XIX 

LEAVE 

LEAVE is the be-all and end-all of anyone 
who has been at the front for any great 
time. It is supposed to come every three 
months. It never does, but you know that if 
you stay long enough it will come, for Army 
Headquarters, Corps H. Q., Divisional H. Q. 
and finally Brigade H. Q. (I don't dare men- 
tion Battalion H. Q.!) "may use all of the 
leave some of the time, and some of the leave 
all of the time, but they cannot go on using 
all of the leave all of the time," to paraphrase 
Mr. P. T. Barnum in regard to fooling the 
people. 

So all you must do is to possess your soul 
in patience, avoid getting directly in front of 
a shell or bullet, and some day in the dim 
and distant future leave will come for you to 
expose yourself once again to the temptations 
of the World, the Flesh and the Devil in Lon- 

228 



LEAVE 

don; that is, if any of them remain when the 
Bishop of London, the Food Controller, the 
Anti-Treating Laws, and the Provost Marshal 
have done their work. 

One day a fellow officer (in this connection 
I nearly said sufferer) informs you that his 
batman was told by the O. C.'s batman that 
he had heard that the Brigadier General was 
taking leave the end of the month. After that 
you go on hearing by devious routes that the 
Brigade Majors, Captains, and Lieutenants 
are going soon, and suddenly you realize that 
shortly your own Battalion Headquarters will 
find leave filtering through on them. And 
perchance, toward the end of the list, you know 
you come somewhere. 

It is then you look up your bank account, 
if you happen to have any, and you take no 
extra chances either with shells or supersti- 
tions, for soldiers are almost as superstitious 
as sailors. 

You could barely find in the British Ar- 
mies ten men who would light three cigarettes 
with one match, and that despite the fact that 
the match ration is sometimes as absent as 

229 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

the rum ration. We none of us are super- 
stitious, but we adhere to the same platform 
as did a very charming Canterbury lady. 
Her two sons, as fine chaps as England pro- 
duces, were at the front, and as she and I, 
walking down St. George's Place, came to 
a ladder leaning against the wall of a building, 
she carefully walked round the other side of 
it, saying: 

"You know, Doctor, I am not the faintest 
bit superstitious, but I am not taking any 
chances these days." And that is the position 
of the Army in the field. They are not taking 
any chances. 

Your leave comes one day after many 
months beyond the three required of you. You 
start to a railhead where you put up for a 
night at an Officers' Club and mingle with the 
other happy beings who are leaving for the 
same purpose on the nine-mile-per-hour French 
train in the morning. As you sit about after 
a dinner that makes your ration meals for the 
past six months look literally like "thirty 
cents," you light a cigarette, cock up your 
heels, and look at the world through a beam- 

230 



LEAVE 

ing face, made ruddy by an extra portion of 
the grape juice of France, and wearing a smile 
that won't come off. 

"You going on leave, too?" you ask genially 
of your neighbor, a young officer of that Sui- 
cide Club, the Royal Flying Corps. He is 
about twenty-one, and you feel old enough to 
almost patronize him. But before you do it 
you glance carefully at his left breast to see 
if it is, or is not, covered with D. S. O., M. C, 
and perhaps, V, C, ribbons. To your relief 
you find it isn't. However, on second thought, 
you decide you will keep your patronizing for 
the Army Service Corps and not for these 
smiling, gay, life-risking, dare-devil boys about 
you. 

"Y-yes in a w-w-way," the young chap an- 
swers with a charming boyish smile, "sick 
leave. My old b-bus hit the earth s-s-suddenly, 
and I'm g-going for a rest. I d-d-didn't al- 
ways talk 1-1-like this." And in an engaging 
way he stammers out an invitation for you to 
take a Creme de Menthe with him. Of course, 
courtesy compels you, much against your de- 
sire, to accept. He has with him two others 

231 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

of the R. F. C, all young like himself, and 
for a couple of hours you listen to their mod- 
est tales of their really wonderful exploits, 
undreamed of except by the far-seeing few 
twenty-five years ago. One of the others has 
a scraped nose, blackened eye and swollen lip, 
which he says he received when his "waggon/' 
in landing, struck a rough bit of ground which, 
"he tried to plow up and he must have hit 
the bally gravel underneath." 

"W-were you t-t-tight?" asks the first with 
that boyish smile. 

"Certainly not," indignantly replied the oth- 
er, and he laughed. "Of course, I had had a 
couple in the morning, but I had a sleep after- 
wards, and anyway, the O. C. smelt my breath, 
and he wouldn't have allowed me up if he had 
smelt anything." 

And you listen with fascination to their 
comparisons of their machines and their meth- 
ods of diving; and "stalling," in which they 
drive up against the wind in such a way that 
they can keep stationary in relation to a certain 
bit of earth ; and "corkscrewing," or nose-div- 
ing, towards the earth with a circular turning 

232 



LEAVE 

of the whole aeroplane, out of the midst of 
enemies, and righting the machine thousands of 
feet lower down out of danger. 

You become quite an expert as you listen. 
They tell you that earlier in the war the Ger- 
man aviators were very chivalrous foes, return- 
ing courtesy for courtesy, never shooting a 
fallen enemy, and dropping notes as to the fate 
of some of our missing airmen. On one occa- 
sion the great German aviator, Immelman, who 
remained chivalrous till his death, dropped a 
box of cigars on the aerodrome of a great Brit- 
ish pilot, "with the compliments of the German 
Air Service." The following night the Briton 
returned the compliment in the same manner. 
But now the Germans in the air, as on the sea 
and on land, are much less sportsmanlike and 
take mean advantages of a fallen foe. 

You listen to stories of the great exploits of 
Baron Richtofen's "circus," and still greater 
of the "circus" of our own Captain Ball — un- 
happily since killed — who at times went up in 
his pyjamas. He had a trick of shooting 
straight up through the roof of his plane at 
an enemy overhead and, fearing that the en- 

233 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

emy might some day try the same trick on him, 
he had a machine gun so placed that he could 
also shoot through the floor directly down- 
wards. Oh, what entrancing, picturesque sto- 
ries, beyond the wildest dreams of imagination 
two generations ago! 

"I always take up with me a goodly supply 
of cigarettes in case I have to land where I 
can't get any. Do you?" asks one. 

"N-no, I d-d-don't. That's looking for t-t- 
trouble. I order b-b-breakfast of p-porridge 
and cream and b-b-bacon and eggs," smiles our 
young stammering friend. "And then it's all 
ready when I c-c-come in." 

You listen for hours to these gallant boys 
who have all the fine natural courtesy and mod- 
esty of the well-bred English, and the gayety 
of a Charles O'Malley. Unconsciously they 
make you feel that you really have seen such 
a prosaic side of the war in comparison with 
them. Then, like all good Britons, they for 
some time curse the Government, and you aid 
and abet them. The night wears on, the liqueur 
bottle runs low, and at last you must say good- 
night to these rollicking boys who insist that 

234 



LEAVE 

you must not fail when you come back to visit 
their mess, "for you C-C-Canadians, you know, 
are such d-damned fine chaps, and we 1-love to 
meet you." 

The little sin of flattery is so easily for- 
given when it is accompanied by that frank, 
fascinating smile, and when you have all been 
tasting a drop of good French liqueur. 

You wend your way up creaky old stairs 
to No. 13, or is it 31, and, luxury of luxuries, 
you find a tub of hot water — or it was hot at 
the hour for which you ordered it — awaiting 
you. Divesting yourself of your clothes you 
double your body this way and that in a vain 
endeavor to dip more than half of yourself at 
once. 

At last you feel clean, and you struggle 
into pyjamas, and crawl into bed between real, 
white, clean linen sheets for the first time in 
six months, and you sleep as no emperor can 
sleep on the most silken of divans, while you 
dream of the morrow when you really begin 
your leave. 

Leave! Ah, we were speaking of leave! 
Well, let us, you and I, take it together. Let 

235 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

us enjoy to the full the flesh-pots of London. 
For our leave lasts only ten days, and the war 
must go on till we have shown the Hun that 
he cannot autocratically put his Prussian mil- 
itaristic crown of thorns on the fair brow of 
Civilization. 



CHAPTER XX 

PARIS DURING THE WAR 

PARIS, that queen of cities, has been an 
interesting study to all who have paid 
her a visit at any time, but particularly inter- 
esting is that study since the war began. 

Previous to the war I had the good fortune 
to visit this city on a number of occasions, my 
last visit having been but a few months before 
the beginning of this great militaristic con- 
flagration which is still sweeping over the civil- 
ized world. At that time I had just returned 
from a "grand tour," taking in Italy, Austria, 
and Southern Germany, where no signs were 
discernible on the horizon of the stupendous at- 
tempt at world domination which the Prussian 
junkers were to engineer within four months' 
time. Paris at that time was enjoying bright 
and balmy spring weather ; the boulevards were 
crowded with visiting tourists, the Champs- 
Elysees with gay and merry crowds, and the 

237 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

Bois de Boulogne with riders and motorists 
in its wooded avenues, and rowers and paddlers 
on its lakes. It remained in my memory a 
picture of beauty, peace, gayety, and prosper- 
ity. 

My return to it came within the year, at the 
beginning of 1915, when the war cloud that 
hung over the whole of Europe particularly 
dimmed the sun of Paris. I came into it in 
the afternoon from the north, and my first view 
of it showed that beautiful edifice, the Church 
of the Sacre Cceur, on the hill of Montmartre 
standing out en silhouette, "just as if cut from 
paper," as a traveling companion remarked. 

Since the war began, on one's arrival at his 
hotel in Paris he has to give many particulars 
of himself not required in peace times. The 
following morning he must call at the nearest 
police station and obtain, after many more 
questions as to nationality, occupation, and rea- 
sons for being there, a permis de sejour — per- 
mit to remain — good for a certain length of 
time, at the expiration of which the permit 
must be renewed. 

On stepping out of my hotel the following 
238 



PARIS DURING THE WAR 

morning to go to the police station, the first 
thing that struck my attention was the large 
number of women in mourning, though it was 
then only a matter of months since the begin- 
ning of hostilities. The thought that flitted sad- 
ly through my mind was that one-half of the 
women of Paris are in mourning now, and ere 
long the other half will be. It must not be 
forgotten that the French wear mourning for 
relations much more distant than those for 
whom we wear it; but even at that the war 
must not have gone on many months before a 
very large percentage of the French homes had 
been touched by the deaths of those near and 
dear to them. For the soil of France was under 
the heel of the foreign invader, and there are 
no people in the world who love their mother 
country with a deeper devotion than the 
French. A very old woman, living away up 
in the north of France in a town that was 
shelled by the Germans almost daily showed 
me her love for la belle France and her hatred 
of its enemies in one expressive sentence. I 
had asked her if she did not tire of the con- 
tinuous pounding of the guns. 

239 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

"No, I love them, I love them," she answered 
passionately, "for when they cease it means that 
the accursed boche is being left alone ; but when 
they roar, roar, roar, it means that we are driv- 
ing him out of our beautiful France." Her 
face showed, as an old woman's wrinkled face 
can show so well, her hatred of the Germans. 
The soldiers of France by their traditional 
gallantry, their superb courage and their pa- 
tience, have not only shown their love for their 
country, but have been an example of noble 
heroism to us all. 

One of the next notable changes on the 
streets of Paris was the fact that one saw no 
young men in civilian clothes. All were serv- 
ing their country in some capacity in the ar- 
mies. The little hotel in the Rue Bergere at 
which I was a guest, a hotel of not many more 
than one hundred rooms, had given thirty men 
— waiters, porters, clerks — to the armies of 
France, for it was one of those small, select 
hotels that one finds scattered throughout Eu- 
rope. The only male help that remained of 
its original staff was the concierge, and he was 
a Dutchman from Amsterdam. The manager, 

240 



PARIS DURING THE WAR 

accountant, and all the other help were women. 
No meals were served except a French dejeu- 
ner — so hateful to hungry Anglo-Saxons — of 
bread, and tea, coffee, or cocoa. 

And the same condition was noticeable all 
over the city. Anyone who has visited this fair 
metropolis of France in peace times will re- 
member the delicious, snow-white bread that is 
served with the meals, that French bread with 
the crackly brown crust as delicious as pastry. 
The first day of my stay I noticed that this 
bread was served no longer. In its place we 
were given some of a much inferior quality 
and not nearly so white. When this had oc- 
curred in many different restaurants and 
cafes, I asked the reason. 

"Mais, monsieur" was the reply, accompa- 
nied by that Gallic gesture of helplessness, the 
turning upward of the palms, "the good bak- 
ers are all serving with the armies." Of course, 
this reason was enhanced by the conservation 
of the wheat which prevented the mixing or 
blending of the superior qualities of grains to 
produce the high-grade flours used by the good 
bakers. 

241 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

The streets by day were the same crowded 
thoroughfares as of old, except for the black 
of those in mourning, the blue-gray of the mili- 
tary uniforms, and the military cars and Red 
Cross ambulances. The touts who in peace 
times had tried to inveigle the tourist into 
moving picture houses in which the films had 
not been passed by the censor; or who of- 
fered to take him around the forbidden night- 
sights for a small honorarium; or who endeav- 
ored to sell him postcards so indecent that the 
ordinary man would not accept a fortune and 
have them found on his corpse; all these fel- 
lows still plied their trade. They were not quite 
so obtrusive or so numerous as usual, but it 
was difficult to cross the Place de l'Opera 
without having one of them step up behind 
you and whisper his enterprise, whatever it 
was. 

The girls of the boulevards were perhaps 
even more in evidence than at other times, for 
in those early months of the war few chose 
to cross the submarine-infested channel, and 
still fewer to cross the Atlantic through the 
areas laid out by the Huns as danger zones, 

242 



PARIS DURING THE WAR 

unless good cause made them do so. Paris, 
usually the Mecca of tourists from all the 
countries of the world, had become instead the 
business and military headquarters of France. 
And to Paris came, instead of the gay youth 
bent on pleasure, the gray youth bent on busi- 
ness, whose eyes were so busy studying his 
engagement book, or reading the market re- 
ports, that they had not time to meet the roam- 
ing glances of the girls of the boulevards. New 
friends were hard to find, for les riches Ameri- 
cains came no more except on business, and the 
old friends in the persons of gay Pierre or 
gallant Paul were serving in the trenches — 
perhaps dead, for news of them came but sel- 
dom. So the girls had plenty of time to prom- 
enade and one found it necessary to keep his 
eyes fixed steadily on some imaginary object 
straight in front, as he walked down the Boule- 
vard des Italiens or the Boulevard des Capu- 
cines, to avoid receiving too many inquiring 
glances from the boulevardieres. Generally 
speaking the annoyances were limited to 
glances, as the rules of the city are strict. 
One noticeable thing about these women was 
243 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

the fact that many of them wore black, prob- 
ably for two reasons — on the one hand, war 
economy, and on the other, to attract sym- 
pathy for real or supposed losses at the front. 
Those who were not in black went with the 
prevailing styles which seemed to be governed 
also by war economy, for less and less mate- 
rials were being used in the dresses : the waists 
were getting lower, and the skirts higher. One 
would imagine that if this kept on till they 
met, some kind of catastrophe would be likely 
to happen, even though it were Paris! 

At that famous corner of the Cafe de la 
Paix the chairs on the street were well patron- 
ized, though the weather was chilly; and I 
found myself wondering if it were the same 
crowd who had occupied them a few months 
before on my last visit. No one ever passes 
here without taking a seat, unless he is pressed 
for time. Someone has said that if you sit 
here long enough you will see everybody in 
the world who is anybody in the world pass by. 
I took a seat and a cup of coffee and glanced 
about me. It was the usual mixed crowd, with, 
perhaps, fewer of those who chase Bacchus and 

244 



PARIS DURING THE WAR 

Venus, and more of those who pursue Mam- 
mon. But, after all, men and women are much 
the same the world over, and this was much 
the same group of coffee-sipping, liqueur-tast- 
ing people that one finds in the cafes from 
4 to 6 p. m. in any of the continental cities 
from Paris to Vienna, from Naples to Ber- 
lin. There were a few more men in uniform, 
a little less gayety than usual, a trifle more 
business talked in one's hearing. Otherwise, 
it was the same group. 

A couple of tables from me was a handsome 
officer in a French uniform, but plainly, from 
his cast of features and his mannerisms, not 
a Frenchman. He wore the ribbon of the 
Legion of Honor on his tunic, and he was, per- 
haps for this reason, saluted by many of the 
officers who passed on the boulevard. Many 
glances of admiration were thrown in his di- 
rection by civilians. Some of the officers 
stopped for a moment and chatted with him. 
I watched him for some time, my curiosity in- 
creasing. He was sitting alone at the moment 
when I got up to leave, and I made the excuse 

245 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

of asking him something about British hos- 
pitals. 

Apparently glad to hear his own tongue 
spoken he welcomed me, and we exchanged 
confidences for a few minutes, as strangers 
sometimes will when there is something in com- 
mon between them. He was an Australian who 
had been in France when the war broke out, 
and he had not agreed with England's hesi- 
tation in entering the war by the side of Bel- 
gium and France; so he joined the French 
army. 

"Oh, yes, that is the Legion of Honor," he 
returned smilingly to my remark as to his dec- 
oration. "A very ordinary bit of work at the 
front brought it to me," he continued modest- 
ly, apparently not caring to give details. 
Though I was in Paris some time, I did not 
come across him again, nor have I ever met 
since this Australian lover of freedom. 

At that time the women of France were al- 
ready doing much of the work usually per- 
formed by men. This was long before London 
had reached the stage that she has attained 
today, with women filling such a wide variety 

246 



PARIS DURING THE WAR 

of occupations, so that it was very noticeable in 
France at that time. At the border my goods 
had been looked over by women customs in- 
spectors; women guards in the train had ex- 
amined my ticket; and in Paris women were 
everywhere, handling the motor buses, conduct- 
ing on the tramways, collecting fares on the 
Metropolitan, or Underground, and filling the 
hundred and one other positions that, since the 
war, woman has proved herself so capable of 
filling. 

All the women of the world have proved 
themselves heroines in this war, but none more 
than the women of France. At the early stage 
of the war of which I am writing, they showed 
those characteristics of patience, loyalty, and 
nobility of mind which have distinguished them 
in the straining times that have come and gone 
since then. They seemed to have become re- 
signed to all things. If one spoke to them pet- 
ulantly of the raw, cold weather: 

"Ah, well," they returned, smiling, "it is the 
season, and one must expect bad weather." Or 
you may, perchance, have known some woman 
whose son or brother was serving in the lines. 

247 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

At that time the French Government gave out 
but little information as to any of the happen- 
ings at the front, and unless the government 
knew positively that a man was killed, no word 
of news was sent to the anxious friends. Often 
many weary months of waiting passed without 
knowledge on the part of the soldier's nearest 
of kin as to his fate. And if during this time 
of waiting you asked this woman whom you 
knew for tidings of her loved one, her reply 
invariably was: 

"No, no. I have had no news of mon cher 
Jacques for a long time now. But I do not 
fear," she would continue with a patient smile, 
"for the good God will protect him, I am sure. 
And if it is necessary, we must give all for our 
beloved France." And it may have been many 
more long, long months, and it may have been 
never, that she learned the real fate of her 
"cher Jacques." 

One morning during this visit, as I entered 
a car on the subway, a living picture of sorrow 
passed in ahead of me. The picture was made 
up of a beautiful young widow, leading ten- 
derly by the hands her two lovely children, now 

248 



PARIS DURING THE WAR 

fatherless. Her deep brown eyes looking sad- 
ly out from her pale face saw no one. Those 
eyes were looking into the far-off distance of 
the blank and lonely years to come, those years 
without hope "for the touch of a vanished hand, 
or the sound of a voice that is still." All 
that saved her from black despair was the 
knowledge that she had to bear up because of 
the helpless children at her side. But, God I 
The pity of the thousands of these lonely wid- 
ows! What a contribution France and her 
allies are making to the cause of liberty ! 



CHAPTER XXI 

PARIS IN WARTIME 

AT this period of the war the restaurants 
of Paris — and no other city is so famous 
for its restaurants — were not appreciably cur* 
tailed in their food supplies. They still served 
the well-seasoned, dainty dishes of the French 
chefs, though their clientele was considerably 
smaller in numbers. 

You could still get a delicious cut off the 
joint at Boeuf a la Mode near the Palais 
Royal; or you could have a choice of many 
luscious dishes at Voison's well-known dining 
place. If you preferred French society, you 
could still go to Larue's aristocratic restaurant, 
opposite the Madeleine, patronized by the so- 
ciety of Paris. Prunier's oyster house was 
apparently as busy as it had been in the piping 
times of peace and tourists; and the most de- 
liriously cooked fish in Europe — according to 

250 



PARIS IN WARTIME 

my taste — was still being served at Marguery's 
under the title of Sole a la Marguery. 

The less pretentious eating places of the 
modest diner, such as Duval's dining-rooms 
or the Bouillon Boulant, served good meals at 
reasonable prices. These latter are akin to 
the Child's restaurants in America. But al- 
ready the food question was beginning to cause 
some anxiety throughout the world, because of 
the lessened production and increased con- 
sumption due to the millions of men taken 
from productive occupations who had to be 
kept fit as fighters. 

For this reason I decided one day to see how 
cheaply I could obtain a satisfying meal dur- 
ing wartime in Paris. The Diner de Paris 
advertised exceptionally cheap meals, and they 
seemed to be well patronized, so I entered one 
of these eating places. The large dining-room 
was filled to overflowing with a well-dressed 
throng, no doubt mostly clerks from the ad- 
joining business blocks. Here I partook of 
a tastily cooked meal of soup, roast pork and 
potatoes, apple pie, and a bottle of milk, all 
for the munificent sum of twenty-six cents, 

251 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

plus the regulation tip of two cents, most cer- 
tainly a reasonable price for a good meal in 
the principal city of a country with the in- 
vader on its soil. Unfortunately since that 
time the food situation in all the countries at 
war has become much more complicated. 

The hotels of the first class still kept open 
doors, and a few of them seemed to have an air 
of prosperity, but these were very few. Many 
of them who, in the season, considered it "infra- 
dig" to have more than a small card in the 
hotel columns of the daily papers, which card 
never hinted at their prices, had descended to 
the habit of advertising "special rates during 
the war." But others still preferred their small, 
select clientele — and a deficit — to accepting 
prosperity obtained by any such plebeian meth- 
od. 

One point noticeable was the fact that un- 
less the traveler carried them himself he saw 
no gold Louis or half-Louis, so much in evi- 
dence in times of peace. I had brought with 
me some English gold, but once it disappeared 
from my hand it never returned. A journalist 
friend of mine told me he was collecting the 

252 



PARIS IN WARTIME 

equivalent of one hundred dollars in gold to 
keep for an emergency, and was delighted 
when I gave him a few sovereigns in exchange 
for French money. The gold was being gath- 
ered in by the government, and today in France 
only paper money is used in exchange. All 
the smaller cities issue paper currency in de- 
nominations as low as one-quarter franc, or 
five cents. 

Among my letters was one of introduction 
to the director of a large hospital in the Rue 
de la Chaise. This hospital was supported by 
funds collected by La Presse, a daily journal 
of Montreal, and so it was partial to any Ca- 
nadian visitors, though it received as patients 
only French officers and soldiers. The institu- 
tion was doing much good work, all of which 
was done by Paris medical men, Dr. Faure, 
a well-known surgeon, performing most of the 
operations. My reception was cordial, and I 
became a regular visitor to its operating the- 
ater during my stay in the city. 

On one of my early visits I was watching 
Dr. Faure remove some dead bone from an old 
wound of the leg, when a tall, distinguished 

253 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

lady entered. She had donned a sterilized gown 
over her street dress, and was apparently a vis- 
itor like myself. Noting that Dr. Faure's 
English and my French were both a trifle la- 
bored, she, during my visits, acted as inter- 
preter for us, her English having the soft in- 
tonation of the educated Britisher. She in- 
formed me that she was neither doctor nor 
nurse, but was simply learning something of 
nursing in order that she could be of service 
to her country in its need, though she had a 
little son and daughter of her own to care for. 
That was the extent of my knowledge of her, 
though I saw that she was treated with 
more than ordinary consideration by surgeons, 
and nurses, one of the younger surgeons, 
by the way, being a stepson of the idolized 
Joffre. 

The last day I visited the hospital she was 
not there, and as I was leaving Paris the fol- 
lowing day I left my card for her with one 
of the sisters, with a word of thanks scribbled 
upon it for her kindness to a stranger. That 
afternoon I went to Cook's to get my railway 
tickets, and as I came out of the door this lady 

254 



PARIS IN WARTIME 

stepped from an automobile to enter Cook's. 
Recognizing me, she told me that she had been 
at the hospital after I had left, and had been 
given my card. She was leaving the following 
day for Switzerland for a two weeks' rest ; and 
hoped that when I returned to Paris I would 
call and meet her husband. 

"I should be delighted, madam, but I fear 
I do not know your name." 

"Comtesse (Countess) de Sonlac," she re- 
plied. 

All the French women were doing their bit. 
A very clever, cultured woman- journalist 
whom I met at the home of a high Canadian 
official in Paris was leaving in a few days to 
take a position as cook on an ambulance train 
in the north of France! 

At night the streets of Paris were well lit 
up, even more brightly than those of London, 
though a little later, after the Germans had 
made a couple of Zeppelin raids, the lighting 
was dimmed. When a raid was expected the 
police warned the people by the blowing of 
sirens, and the hurrying about of motor cars 
under police direction tooting foghorns. The 

255 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

warnings were given when word had been re- 
ceived that Zeppelins had been seen going to- 
ward Paris; and on receiving these warnings 
the street lights were extinguished, and all 
other lights that could be seen, including the 
headlights of motor cars, had to be switched 
off. 

The Opera was closed, but most of the thea- 
ters were in full swing, for it had been found 
that the people must have some recreation, and 
the order issued at the beginning of the war 
closing all places of amusement had been re- 
scinded. The far-famed and somewhat no- 
torious Moulin Rouge music hall, well known 
to all visitors to Paris, had been burned a short 
time before, and had but recently reopened its 
doors at the Folies Dramatique in the Place 
Republique. Wandering one evening along 
the boulevards I came to it, and entered. A 
very ordinary vaudeville was in progress, 
equaling neither in quality nor in gayety the 
performances at the original Red Mill in Mont- 
martre. Here and there throughout the eve- 
ning skits in English were put on, in compli- 
ment to their British allies; just as French 

256 



PARIS IN WARTIME 

playlets are common today in the London the- 
aters — a social touch to the Entente Cordiale. 
About ten-thirty I tired of the rather taw- 
dry performance, and made my exit to find 
the streets in pitch black darkness, only broken 
here and there by the small side-lights of a 
flitting automobile or a dim light far back in 
a boulevard cafe. A gendarme, with whom I 
accidentally collided as I strolled slowly along 
the street, told me that a warning had been 
sent out that the Zeppelins were coming. Rain 
was pattering on the pavement which glistened 
as the automobiles hurried by, and occasionally 
searchlights swept overhead, flashing from 
1'fitoile. The people were good naturedly j os- 
tling their way along, and as someone near me 
struck a match to help him grope his way, a 
giggle was heard and a bright-eyed French girl 
pulled herself back from the escort who had 
just kissed her. They apparently were not 
worrying about the Zeppelins that were com- 
ing, and so far as I could see neither was any- 
one else. As the people collided in the dark, 
jokes and friendly banter were bandied to and 
fro. Someone on the opposite side of the 

257 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

boulevard knocked something down which hit 
the pavement with a crash, and a gay voice 
cried : 

"C'est un obus! Les bodies, les bodies!" 
(It's a shell! The boches, the boches!) And 
a roar of laughter greeted the remark. 

All took the expected raid as a joke ; and yet 
a few nights before the Zeppelins had reached 
Paris and had done some damage to property 
and life by dropping what the Parisians gaily 
call "a few visiting cards." But this attack 
reached only the outskirts of the city, though 
the inhabitants had no way of knowing that 
such would be the case. 

The following day I had dinner with some 
friends who live on the Champs Elysees, and 
the hostess was envying one of her maids who 
had had "the good fortune" to be spending the 
previous night with her family on the outskirts 
of the city, and had seen the Zeppelins ! 

In the more than two years since that time, 
I have been in London during a number of 
air raids, some by Zeppelins and others by 
aeroplanes. The last was on July 7, 1917, on 
which occasion twenty-two planes sailed over 

258 



PARIS IN WARTIME 

London, dropping bombs and doing consider- 
able damage in broad daylight. The people 
of London accepted these raids as spectacles 
too precious to miss. I was writing a letter in 
the Overseas Officers' Club in Pall Mall at 
the moment when I received my first intima- 
tion that anything out of the ordinary was hap- 
pening. This intimation came to me by my 
noticing that everyone in the club, men and 
women alike, was rushing into the streets to 
see the German planes overhead, surrounded 
by the bursting shells of our anti-aircraft guns. 
Only in the immediate neighborhood of the ex- 
ploding bombs was anything but curiosity 
shown by the populace. The spots where the 
bombs struck attracted the curious during the 
rest of the daylight hours. 

All of which goes to show that human na- 
ture is much the same the world over — except 
in Germany, where by some kind of perverted 
reasoning the people seem to imagine that 
these child-mutilating, women-killing raids 
cause widespread terror amongst the English 
and French people. The real result is disgust 
for such barbarous methods, hatred against the 

259 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

Huns who employ them, and a more firm de- 
termination on the part of the allies to con- 
tinue the war until the German perpetrators 
of these atrocities, realizing the enormity of 
their offenses against the laws of civilization 
and real culture, decide to honor their treaties, 
abide by the laws of nations, and keep faith 
with the other people of the world. 

On Sunday morning I visited Napoleon'9 
old church, the Madeleine, noting as I walked 
along the streets that any business houses with 
German names had an extra allowance of 
French and allied flags across their fronts. 
These air raids made them nervous ! The Mad- 
eleine was jammed to the doors, many of those 
present being, like myself, strangers in the city. 
The service was an elaborate high mass, and I 
found it high in more ways than one, for four 
collections were taken up: the first for the 
seats; the second for the clergy; the third for 
les blesses — the wounded; and the fourth for 
the soldiers. I could not help but think that 
they should have taken up a fifth from the sol- 
diers, the clergy, and the wounded, for the rest 
of us, for when I got outside I possessed only 

260 



PARIS IN WARTIME 

my gloves and a sense of duty well done! 

That afternoon I visited the Bois de Bou- 
logne. Thousands were there. It might easily 
have been a Sunday during any of the pre- 
vious forty years of peace. On superficial 
inspection one could not see any sign of the 
injury done to the trees due to many of them 
being cut down at the beginning of the war in 
preparation for the defense of Paris. The tea 
houses of the Bois were doing their usual busi- 
ness, and it was just as difficult as at other 
times to find a table. 

Two of the famous sights of Paris to which 
the tourist always goes are Napoleon's Tomb 
in the Invalides, and Notre Dame. At the 
former in ordinary times one will always find 
a crowd of sightseers of various nationalities, 
admiring the beauty of the immense porphyry 
sarcophagus and its surroundings ; dreaming of 
Napoleon's days of greatness as a youthful 
general in Italy, or as dictator of the whole 
of Europe except Britain; or giving a pitying 
thought to his last days at St. Helena. To- 
day, as I strolled in, few were there, and they 
were mostly the veterans who live in the In- 

261 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

valides, and I have no doubt their thoughts 
consisted of hopes that another would arise 
with the military genius of Napoleon to drive 
the invader from the soil of France, and to 
once more dictate terms from Berlin. 

On my return I went for a moment into 
the Louvre from which most of the art treas- 
ures, such as the Venus of Milo, have been 
removed to underground vaults, safe from 
bombs dropped by the destruction-loving Hun. 
And a painting that I looked for, but did not 
find, was Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa, the 
lady of the mysterious smile, the stealing of 
which had caused such a furore in the world 
of art. It had just been returned before my 
last visit to the Louvre. 

The following day I wandered across the 
Seine and viewed again that magnificent 
Gothic pile, the church of Notre Dame de 
Paris. It happened to be a holy day and im- 
mense crowds were entering. Someone said 
to me that the war seems to have brought back 
religion to the spirit of France. After all, 
there are few people in the world who, when 
beset by troubles, do not glance upward at 

262 



PARIS IN WARTIME 

times and utter a prayer that the Supreme 
Being will take notice of them and have pity 
on them. I joined those entering, and mingled 
with them as they made their way into the 
solemn interior of the great edifice. It seemed 
that thousands were there. Those entering 
were directed in such a way that they passed 
in order before two immense lifelike paint- 
ings arranged on one side of the church, one 
above the other — the Last Supper, and the 
Crucifixion. Before these paintings myriads 
of candles were burning, and as the people 
passed each took one or two or three more can- 
dles and lit them. It was a splendid, solemn, 
and impressive spectacle. 

To send telegrams or cables from France 
was a most troublesome procedure. You had 
to get the written consent of the military po- 
lice after they had interviewed you as to your 
objects in sending the message, and had scru- 
tinized the message carefully to find if, per- 
chance, you had hidden somewhere within it 
information that might be of service to the 
enemy. 

But even this was an easy matter com- 
263 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

pared with getting out of Paris once you 
had entered. For to get out was very much 
more difficult than to get in. You had first 
to report to the police station nearest to your 
hotel that you were leaving the city. Then 
you had to go to the office of the Consul of 
the country to which you were going, explain 
the purpose of your change of residence, and 
have the consul or his representative vise your 
passport. Then finally you had to call at the 
Prefecture of Police — akin to our central po- 
lice station in a large city — and again get your 
papers certified. Each of these moves meant 
considerable time lost, sometimes as much as 
a day, since long lines of people were at each 
of these places hours before they opened for 
business. 

On my departure, during my visit to the 
British Consulate, I had an amusing experi- 
ence that is worth relating. As I turned into 
the court of the building in which the con- 
sulate is situated, an automobile drove up, and 
out stepped a stylish and pretty woman of 
perhaps thirty years. She followed me into 
the court, and after looking about her doubt- 

264 



PARIS IN WARTIME 

fully for a minute, she turned and asked if I 
could direct her to the office of the British 
Consul. I had walked there the day before to 
"learn the ropes," and so knew my way about. 
I replied that it was up a couple of flights of 
stairs, but as I was just going there I should 
be pleased to show her the way. 

We went up the two flights of stairs, and 
reaching the waiting room found some thirty or 
forty people ahead of us. We took our place 
in the line to await our turn, which meant a 
delay of an hour or two. As the people waited 
conversation was quite free, as was also crit- 
icism of the consulate for not having more help 
at a time of pressure such as the present. The 
lady whom I had shown up was next to me in 
the line. She looked upon me as an American 
compatriot, for she was from New York, and 
apparently felt quite safe in carrying on a con- 
versation with a stranger in a strange city. 
She mentioned that she was on her way back 
from Spain to England. 

"Spain," I said in some surprise. "Might 
I be curious enough to ask why a young woman 

265 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

like yourself should be traveling in Spain in 
times like the present?" 

"Oh, I'm a eugenist," she replied readily, 
"and I have been in Spain studying the ef- 
fects of the war on the Spanish people in re- 
lation to eugenics for a book I am preparing 
for publication. I am going to spend some 
time in London, in the British Museum, look- 
ing up some data to complete my manuscript." 
And then quite voluntarily she went on to crit- 
icize the majority of all the cherished institu- 
tions of society, and as she became more enthu- 
siastic her criticisms became more free, more 
radical, almost nihilistic. She ended in a ti- 
rade against civilization as we know it, not 
by any means becoming at all boisterous, but 
simply youthfully animated in her fault-find- 
ing with the world in general. 

I could hardly believe my ears. Here was 
a pretty American woman of thirty, highly ed- 
ucated, whose outlook on life was more ni- 
hilistic than that of the most extreme German 
socialist. But finally she capped the climax 
by telling me frankly that she was an anar- 
chist; had taken part in two anarchistic plots 

266 



PARIS IN WARTIME 

in Italy; and promised me that the next ruler 
who was going to pay the death penalty for his 
tyranny was King Alfonso of Spain. Begin- 
ning to feel certain that she was "ragging" me, 
I asked her jokingly if she expected me to be- 
lieve her. 

"Does it sound like something that a young 
woman would claim were it untrue?" she asked, 
and I was forced to admit that it did not. "I 
will tell you something further," she continued, 
"I dare not return to New York at the present 
time or I should be put in jail. For the last 
time I was there I was jailed for some of my 
writings. I obtained my freedom on bail of 
three thousand dollars, and, hearing that I was 
to be railroaded to prison, I jumped it." 

"Why do you tell a stranger like myself 
this story?" I asked. "How do you know that 
I am not going to report you to the police?" 

"I know you are not going to report me to 
the police," she answered coolly, "because if 
you did I would shoot you." 

"Do you carry much of your artillery on 
your person?" I asked, laughing. And seeing 

267 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

that I was taking it all as a joke, she joined 
in the laugh. 

"It's your turn, madam," said the porter to 
her, and she passed out of the line into the 
office of the consul, giving me a charming smile 
and curtsy as she left. 

Whether her story was the result of mis- 
chief, insanity, or conviction, I really have no 
idea; but I do know that I have in my life 
passed many more tedious and less interesting 
hours than the one I passed while awaiting my 
turn at the office of the British Consul that 
day. 



CHAPTER XXII 

IN A CHATEAU HOSPITAL 

EARLY in the conflict, after the Germans 
had been pushed back from their rush on 
Paris, the French were in a bad way for many 
of the necessities of a country at war. Among 
the necessities that France lacked was suffi- 
cient hospital accommodation for the sick and 
wounded of her armies, and for the first year 
of the war this shortage was partially supplied 
by voluntary ambulances — the word ambu- 
lance in French being employed for a field hos- 
pital. Many rich Americans gave valuable 
service at this time to their sister republic, the 
American ambulances at Neuilly and Juilly be- 
ing among the most noted of the war hospitals. 
It was not at all difficult to get staffs for 
these hospitals, for thousands of young Amer- 
icans with red blood in their veins and the love 
of romance in their hearts were only awaiting 

269 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

the opportunity to do something useful any- 
where between Paris and the firing line. Be- 
tween the people of the United States and the 
French there has always been a deep sym- 
pathy, possibly engendered up to half a cen- 
tury ago by their common antipathy to Eng- 
land, a sentiment forever removed by mutual 
sufferings and common interests and ideals in 
this war. A witty writer one time said that 

"good Americans, when they die, go to 

Paris"; jokingly showing the love which the 
people of the southern half of this continent 
have for the French. But, no matter what the 
reasons, the greatest republic in the world was 
early in responding to the call, and so placed 
her sister republic, France, under deep obli- 
gations for assistance of surgeons, nurses, and 
hospitals long before Mr. Wilson led the 
United States to join with the other civilized 
peoples in their fight against barbarism. 

The British were very early up and doing 
in the same manner, and not many months after 
Kitchener's Contemptibles — a name now re- 
vered in Britain — had made their heroic retreat 
from Mons, many well-equipped hospitals 

270 



IN A CHATEAU HOSPITAL 

manned by Britons were doing excellent work 
behind the French lines. 

It was my good fortune to serve at the be- 
ginning of 1915 in one of these, the Chateau 
de Rimberlieu, just three miles from the point 
at which the German lines came nearest to 
Paris, and seven miles north of Compiegne 
where a little over one hundred years ago 
Napoleon for the first time met Marie Louise 
of Austria when she came to replace the un- 
happy Josephine. 

I obtained the position after much searching 
for an opportunity to be of service. Going 
across from New York to London I had been 
refused a position by the British unless 
I could enlist, which personal reasons prevent- 
ed at the time. Then, after two days inter- 
viewing, taxicabbing, viseing, pleading, and ex- 
plaining, I obtained a permit to go to France. 
At Boulogne the authorities of the British Red 
Cross and St. Johns Ambulance Association 
told me they were oversupplied with surgeons 
and I decided to go to Amiens, where I had a 
surgical friend. 

I could not get away till the following 
271 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

morning, so I spent the afternoon wan- 
dering about. The streets were filled with 
a cosmopolitan throng of soldiers of all shades 
of color — white, black, and brown — and of va- 
rious nationalities, British and Canadian Tom- 
mies in their khaki, French poilus in their blue- 
gray uniforms, Ghurkas from India in their 
picturesque dress, and French Soudanese with 
strange accouterments. The better hotels were 
all occupied by the military authorities as head- 
quarters, and the harbor was filled with hos- 
pital ships and transports. Walking about the 
streets one had to look sharp to avoid being 
run down by hurrying Red Cross ambulances 
or lumbering motor lorries. 

I strolled to the beach, where on the sands 
Tommies were lounging, gazing longingly 
across at the shores of England, dimly visible 
in the distance. One of the soldiers turned to 
me with a smile and said : 

"I was just taking a last look at the old 
'ome, sir. Of course, I 'opes to see it again 
sometime if I don't 'appen to stop somethink." 
And it was all said most cheerfully. I added 
my wishes for his luck to his own. 

272 



IN A CHATEAU HOSPITAL 

On the slow train from Boulogne to Amiens 
we passed many military camps with their 
white tents in orderly rows. Here and there 
oxen were being used by old men and women 
on their farms, and in one little brook some 
boys were fishing. I could hardly believe that 
forty miles or less away two armies of millions 
of men were contending for the mastery, with 
civilization depending on the outcome. When, 
later, I was much nearer to the front I was* 
struck again and again by the matter-of-fact 
manner in which the French peasant accepts 
his or her military surroundings. He works 
coolly in fields into which at times enemy shells 
are dropping, or over which long range guns 
are firing into some semi-ruined town of North- 
ern France. Something which is always a 
cause of wonder and admiration to the observer 
is that, despite the fact that all the young 
and able Frenchmen are in the trenches, the 
women, old men and children who remain suc- 
ceed in cultivating the farmlands of France 
right up to the lines. 

At Amiens my surgeon friend, who had over 
twelve hundred war operations to his credit in 

273 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

the past six months, much regretted that I 
could not be used at the moment, — much re- 
gretted; but still regretted. I began to feel 
that the gods of ill luck were camping on my 
trail. I went on to Paris. Here my letters of 
introduction were looked at with anxiety and 
I with suspicion, for in the early months of 
the war some foreign surgeons were found to 
be giving information to the enemy. At any 
rate, though courtesies and promises were 
showered upon me, I remained a useless guest 
at my hotel in the Rue de Rivoli until I reached 
an almost desperate stage, realizing that, 
though surgeons were urgently needed, I could 
not be of service. 

Sickly visions of returning home after a fu- 
tile attempt to be of use came to me, when 
suddenly luck changed. The director of the 
Ambulance Anglo-Francaise in the Chateau 
de Rimberlieu came to Paris in search of as- 
sistance. Being an Englishman, he looked in 
at the British Red Cross in the Avenue d'lena 
where they told him of this forlorn Canadian 
who had been haunting their offices, but of 
whom they had lost track. By a bit of luck 

274 



IN A CHATEAU HOSPITAL 

their commanding officer met me that afternoon 
on the Place de l'Opera, and gave me the di- 
rector's address at the Hotel de Crillon. I 
hurried at once to call upon him, and offered 
to take any position from chauffeur to surgeon. 
There is a biblical quotation that the meek are 
blessed, for they shall inherit the earth. I in- 
herited the surgeoncy — not a lucrative inherit- 
ance, it must be admitted, for it carried no 
salary, no railway fares, no uniform, all of 
which must be supplied by the inheritor. 

After obtaining a sauf conduit from the 
military authorities to take me as far as Creille, 
I left on the train that afternoon for Com- 
piegne, sixty miles to the north, accompanied 
by an affable young Red Cross orderly, of 
English parents and Paris birth, who in civil 
life was a drygoods salesman. At Creille, 
which was the beginning of the war zone, our 
troubles began. I was in civilian dress, my 
uniform not yet being completed. The French 
military officers here were almost adamant. 
My passport, director's letter, Red Cross au- 
thority, all proved of no avail to get me fur- 
ther. Rather strangely, the letter which ob- 

275 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

tained the desired permission to proceed was 
an ordinary letter of introduction from a prom- 
inent French Canadian parliamentarian which 
I had in my pocket. 

Presto ! The officer knew his name, and by 
I went. 

We arrived at Compiegne about midnight, 
and for the first time we heard the sound of the 
guns ten miles away. As we were now only 
seven miles from the Chateau, we thought our 
troubles were over. But we had reckoned 
without the sous-prefet de police, who said in 
the morning when we called that we could go 
no further without a special permit. 

"That chap's a bit of an awss," remarked my 
young friend, expressing my sentiments to a 
nicety. 

However, about 10 a. m. the director whirled 
into town in his 60-horsepower Rolls-Royce, 
and learning of our troubles, he smilingly said 
that he thought he could get around that dif- 
ficulty. He pulled from beneath the rear seat 
a military overcoat and cap which I put on; 
and out of the town we whirled, past sentries at 
crossroads and railway crossings, to whom the 

276 



IN A CHATEAU HOSPITAL 

director yelled the password — it was "Claire- 
mont" that day. The password changes daily 
at a certain hour, and anyone without the new 
word when required is hailed before the au- 
thorities. The director ran some slight risk 
in thus smuggling me through the lines, but 
nothing ever came of it; and I gave a sigh 
of relief when we at last swung into the spa- 
cious grounds of the chateau. 

The house was a large stone building, used 
in peace times as the summer home for the 
family of the Count de Bethune, one of the 
oldest titled families in France. His two daugh- 
ters, the Countess de Ponge and the Marquise 
de Chabannes, lived in a small corner of the 
building, and gave their time to help us in our 
nursing work. They did everything in their 
power, and it was much, to make life pleasant 
for the patients and for the staff. 

The building was ideal for a hospital with 
room for a couple of hundred patients. The 
reception hall was used as a general reception 
room for patients, as well as a lounging room 
for us in our spare time. Its immense, ex- 
quisitely carved mahogany mantel was one of 

277 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

the artistic ornaments that had not been re- 
moved to avoid injury. The drawing and re- 
ception rooms and the dining hall had been 
transformed into wards, called the Joffre, 
French, and Castelnau wards, as were also the 
larger of the bedrooms on the next floor. The 
surgeons, nurses, and staff occupied the ser- 
vants' quarters on the top floor. The oak- 
paneled library and smoking room had become 
the operating theater and the X-ray studio. 
Our dining-room was the original servants' 
dining-room in the basement. The French of- 
ficers and men who were cared for here re- 
ceived, as they deserved to receive, the best we 
had to give, the staff gladly taking second place 
in all things. And at that our life was so much 
easier than that of the boys in the trenches that 
we often felt a bit ashamed of the difference. 
The chateau was surrounded by some two 
or three hundred acres of well-laid-out gar- 
dens, artificial lakes, fountains, and woods. 
These grounds had been cut up to a certain 
extent by trenches, wire entanglements, dug- 
outs, funk-holes, and gun emplacements, all 
in order and ready for use if the enemy should 

278 



IN A CHATEAU HOSPITAL 

drive the French back in this direction. The 
fighting trenches were only three or four miles 
to the north of us, this chateau being said to 
be the nearest hospital to the lines in the whole 
theater of war. We worked, slept, ate, and 
killed time to the sound of the guns and shells, 
the latter often bursting well within a mile of 
us. 

The really interesting part of the hospital 
was the personnel of the staff. There were four 
surgeons, a French military medical officer, 
Villechaise; Allwood, a Jamaican, an old col- 
lege friend of mine whom I had neither seen 
nor heard of for twelve years until the day 
I arrived at the chateau, when he came for- 
ward to give an anesthetic for me to a case 
which General Berthier had ordered me to op- 
erate upon; King, a Scotsman; and myself. 
And we four were practically the only mem- 
bers of the staff who were not paying for the 
privilege of being allowed to serve. The rest 
of the staff were well-to-do society people who 
not only financed the institution but also did 
the nursing and orderly work, gave their auto- 
mobiles as ambulances, and their personal ser- 

279 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

vants and chauffeurs to act as servants in the 
hospital. 

Besides the Comtesse and the Marquise, we 
had as nurses a niece of an ex-president of 
France; a grand-niece of Lord Beaconsfield; 
and another was a sister-in-law to Lord Some- 
thing-or-other in Scotland. The latter nurse 

had as a pal Miss C , who had stumped 

her father's constituency for him during the 
last general elections in England. She was a 
clever girl of twenty-three, an exceptionally 
good nurse, but oh, what a Tory. She had all 
the assurance of her age, and Mrs. Pankhurst 
in her palmiest moments could not put Lloyd 
George "where he belonged" as could this 
charming girl of twenty-three. The son of a 
prominent Paris lawyer, a young, black-eyed 
chap of seventeen who was doing his bit there 
till he became old enough to join the army, 
was one of her great admirers; and when he 
was not scrubbing floors or performing some 
other necessary work, he sometimes wrote po- 
etry to her. The last four lines of one of his 
rhymes I remember: 

280 



IN A CHATEAU HOSPITAL 

May your years of joy be many, 
Your hours of sorrow few; 
Here's success in all ambitions 
To the man who marries you. 

A Mr. and Mrs. G , of Cambridge, orig- 
inally of Belfast, were two of the most pleas- 
ant, kindly, and useful people the hospital pos- 
sessed. Their automobile was now an ambu- 
lance which their chauffeur handled at their 
expense; they paid two hundred dollars per 
month in cash; they were continually buying 
luxuries for the patients and necessities for the 

hospital. Mrs. G acted as nurse in a 

most capable manner; and her husband as an 

orderly. A Mr. and Mrs. R from Cairo, 

Egypt, were also with us. In Cairo he was a 
professor in the University; here he acted as 
chauffeur on his own automobile ambulance, 
and his wife looked after the checking and ar- 
ranging of the laundry for the whole hospital. 
One afternoon I went into Compiegne with him 
in his car, and he delighted some French Af- 
rican troops by chatting to them in Arabic, 
after which they followed him around like little 
boys. Mr. R also paid a goodly sum to- 
ward the upkeep of the hospital. 

281 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

The director of whom I Tiave already spoken, 
and the directress, both were heavy donors to 
the hospital, as well as giving automobiles and 
servants as assistants. A godly clergyman 
from York acted in the triple capacity of chap- 
lain, chauffeur on his own auto-ambulance, 
which his parishioners had given him when he 
left, and general chore boy. One of my finest 
recollections of him is on a Sunday evening 
when he held service, while outside the guns 
roared and shells from the enemy burst a mile 
or so to the north of us in plain view from 
the windows of the room in which the clergy- 
man was interpreting the word of God. It 
was a most impressive ceremony. My last rec- 
ollection of him, and it's just as fine, he had 
thrown aside his tunic and was working with 
pick and shovel digging a dump for the refuse 
of the hospital, the sweat rolling down his 
honest face. 

The above people are only among the most 
interesting of the staff. There were also a 
sheep farmer from the north of England, a 
journalist of London, a student from Oxford, 
and many other ladies and gentlemen who gave 

282 



IN A CHATEAU HOSPITAL 

of their best, all of them, giving the French 
soldier scientific, sympathetic, and kindly at- 
tention. Those names mentioned will illus- 
trate the personnel of hospitals such as this, 
for there were many of them on the western 
front in the early months of the war. Ours 
was a part of General Castelnau's army* and 
while nominally under the Red Cross we were 
under the discipline of the French army. Gen- 
eral Berthier, who had charge at that time of 
the medical arrangements of that sector of the 
line, visited us daily, inspecting the whole in- 
stitution, ordering this, advising that, and per- 
haps insisting upon something else. More 
ether and hydrogen peroxide were used by the 
French military surgeons in wounds than ap- 
pealed to my ideas; but one little trick they 
had of sterilizing basins by rinsing them out 
with alcohol and touching a match to it — 
"flammer," they called it — was both rapid and 
thorough where steam sterilizers were not too 
common. 

Sometimes we were also inspected by civil- 
ian surgeons on behalf of the military authori- 
ties. Dr. TufRer, a famous Paris surgeon, who 

283 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

is as well known on this continent as in Eu- 
rope, came to make one of these periodical in- 
spections. I had first met him at a surgical 
congress in Chicago before the war; then in 
Paris I had called upon him. 

"Ho, ho!" he said with a smile, "I have meet 
you one time in Chicago ; then I have meet you 
in Paris; now I meet you here. Perhaps the 
nex' time it may be at the Nort' Pole that we 
meet"; and with a friendly slap on the shoul- 
der he passed on. He had been very courteous 
to me in Paris, but had not given me the posi- 
tion that I desired so much. In fact I had 
found myself sometimes wishing that the 
French authorities had given me less polite- 
ness, but more opportunity to be of service. 

In our spare hours of the day we watched 
the shells bursting in our neighborhood. By 
night we often sat and smoked in the dark 
while we watched the flashing of shells and 
guns and the flares sent up in the lines to pre- 
vent surprise attacks. We often saw aeroplanes 
being bombarded as they sailed to and fro 
along the lines directing the fire of the artil- 
lery. One soon got to recognize by ear the 

284 



IN A CHATEAU HOSPITAL 

puff, puff, puff of the anti-aircraft shells burst- 
ing about the planes. Why the enemy did 
not shell our institution I know not, for we 
were well within range. 

In passing, it may be mentioned that no 
Red Cross flag flew from our roof, and when 
I inquired the reason I was told that it would 
only serve as a target for German shells. 

Our work alternated, as it always does on 
the battle front, between days of strenuous 
labor and days of ease. When the work was 
heavy all went to it with a will. In the hours 
of leisure the ladies, who in civil life knew 
nothing of danger and strife, begged and some- 
times vainly insisted on being permitted to 
go with the ambulances as far as the trenches. 
We were all civilians and knew little of disci- 
pline and our lack of it at times was trouble- 
some to the French military authorities, and 
some irritation arose because of it. For ex- 
ample, — lights were ordered not to be shown 
in the windows after dark till all the shutters 
were closed and curtains drawn. This rule 
was occasionally so carelessly obeyed that the 

285 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

military would at times sneeringly call our 
hospital "the lighthouse." 

One afternoon there drove up to our en- 
trance a cream-colored limousine, and out 
stepped an English society girl, saying that 
she had come to nurse. Some of those who 
were already there were friends of hers, but 
the authorities decreed that we had enough as- 
sistance and that she must return to Paris the 
following morning. In the morning she start- 
ed in the limousine, ostensibly to return to 
Paris, taking the sister-in-law of Lord Some- 
thing-or-other as company for a short run. 

When outside the grounds she told the chauf- 
feur to turn toward the lines instead of to- 
ward Paris. With the military pass which she 
had obtained through influence in Paris, they 
passed sentry after sentry till they were only 
a few hundred yards from the trenches. Here 
they were overtaken by a pursuing military 
motor cyclist who ordered them put under ar- 
rest, and they were taken before a high-up offi- 
cer who told them he was forced to confiscate 
their automobile and send the ladies under 
arrest to the rear. 

286 



IN A CHATEAU HOSPITAL 

But beauty in distress — and one of them was 
a real beauty — made him relent. They were 
allowed to proceed rearward after a severe 
reprimand and a considerable fright. A few 
weeks later I met the lady of the automobile 
in a train near Paris and she told me that 
she had just sent up a big box of real cigar- 
ettes — not French ones — to the officer who 
should have confiscated her car, but didn't. I 
did not inquire how she had obtained his ad- 
dress ! 

There was another occasion when a plot was 
hatched to duck a disagreeable officer in the 
artificial lake at the lower end of the grounds. 
Fortunately the saner heads prevailed and 
averted any further complications. And "it 
would have served the creature bally well right, 
for what right had he anyhow to insist so 
strongly on his old rules," as one of the hot- 
heads expressed it. 

It was a trifle irritating at times to have 
a nurse, in reply to your order to give such 
and such a patient massage, say that she would 
do it presently, as she was just going for a 
short tramp in the grounds. Mais, que voulez 

287 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

vous? as the French say with that delightful 
shrug. Were they not paying to be there, and 
should not that fact have given them some 
rights over those horrid rules of discipline? 
And we men were the same on occasions, for 
discipline cannot be had outside of the trained 
army. 

But the breaches of discipline were small 
in comparison to the really excellent work that 
the hospital was carrying on, so they were over- 
looked, and, as they occurred only at wide 
intervals, they but served to give a touch of 
humor to the life which was monotonous 
enough at times. The French realized full 
well the sacrifices that were made daily by these 
aristocrats who had given up their luxurious 
homes, their autos, their servants and their 
money, to live in the servants' quarters of this 
old chateau, and to wait hand and foot upon 
wounded poilus, with at any moment of the 
day or night the chance of a shell coming 
through the roof and stirring things up. No 
praise is too high for the self-sacrificing work 
of these men and women, all voluntary work- 
ers and untrained in this type of labor. The 

288 



IN A CHATEAU HOSPITAL 

women were members of the V.A.D., Volun- 
tary Aid Detachment, which has been the tar- 
get at times of coarse jibes and criticisms, 
spoken by those who do not know whereof they 
speak. I have worked with members of this 
corps of women workers in hospitals in Eng- 
land and France, and I know that, taking it 
all in all, their work is beyond praise, and their 
nobility of character beyond estimate. This is 
vouched for by many a lonely, hard-hit com- 
mon soldier, sick in a strange land, far from 
his home and his loved ones. 

A field telephone line ran from the chateau 
up to the rear trenches. The cases were 
brought out of the trenches to a sheltered spot 
and one of our ambulances was telephoned for. 
One of us medical men accompanied the am- 
bulances on these journeys, and they were of- 
ten very interesting. On one of the trips on 
which I accompanied the ambulance we came 
to a ruined village, Gury by name, from which 
the civilian population had been sent away. 
It was occupied by French soldiers not in the 
front line. This village had just been shelled 
rather heavily by the Huns, one hundred and 

289 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

fifty shells having been dropped into it. After 
the first shell, which hit one of the houses but 
injured no one, the soldiers took shelter in the 
cellars and when the smoke had cleared away, 
just before our arrival, it was found that the 
only damage done was the killing of a cow 
and a pigeon! The soldiers were hilariously 
laughing at this waste of shells. An officer 
showed us the remains of a brass bed in a 
wrecked house, saying that he had been sleep- 
ing in that when the shelling began. 

We were then taken to see a battery of the 
famous .75's — soixante quinze — perhaps the 
finest field gun on the western front, with 
which they said they were going to pay back 
the Germans for their audacity. They were 
like so many boys at play ! The guns were set 
up in a cavity in the ground, a roof built over 
them on which sod had been placed in such a 
manner that from enemy planes it appeared 
like the surrounding fields. Dugouts led down 
from the gun position so that the artillerymen 
could come up from their disturbed slumbers 
at a moment's notice and send across a few 
rounds of their death-dealing shells. Round 

290 



IN A CHATEAU HOSPITAL 

about were laid out flower beds with the 
flowers forming in French the words : 

Gloire aucv Allies — Glory to the Allies. 

Honneur aux Soixante quinze — Honor to 
the .75's. 

Wherever man lives he must have something 
to care for and to love, and these flowers gave 
the poilus an outlet for their affection. 

Every few miles away from us in all direc- 
tions except the north were other hospitals of 
the same type as our own. One very good ex- 
ample, ten miles away at Fayel, was under the 

direction of Countess H G , a cousin 

of King George. She came sometimes to visit 
some acquaintances in our institution, and I 
spent a very pleasant afternoon on her first 
visit showing her our grounds, trenches, gun 
positions, wire entanglements, and other things 
of interest. She was as kindly mannered and 
democratic as anyone could desire, though she 
was King George's cousin and wore a number 
of ribbons for previous service in South Af- 
rica. Since that time she has served with the 
Italians in Italy and has been decorated by 
King Victor Emmanuel. 

291 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

In Compiegne was another very interesting 
hospital presided over by that wonderful 
Frenchman, Alexis Carrel, of the Rockefeller 
Institute of New York. Here he has done re- 
search work that has made his name familiar 
in every scientific circle the world over. And 
here in Compiegne, in this newer field, his re- 
searches have brought forth new methods of 
treating wounds which have been adopted in 
hospitals throughout the war zone. His hos- 
pital was a government institution, not one 
of the voluntary ambulances of which our cha- 
teau was an example. 

At the time of writing, two years from my 
period of service at the Chateau de Rimberlieu, 
it is still doing good service as a hospital, 
though now it is entirely directed by the 
French military authorities. But a number 
of the original people are still there, perform- 
ing the same generous deeds which they per- 
formed in my time, though they are perform- 
ing them many miles from the scene of fighting, 
for early in 1917 at this point the French hap- 
pily pushed back the invaders for many miles. 



CHAPTER XXIII 

ON A TRANSPORT 

SINCE the war began and the Germans 
undertook the drowning of women and 
children by the submarine method I have 
crossed the Atlantic four times. Two of these 
voyages were on troop transports. Traveling 
on a transport is really a pleasure voyage, ex- 
cept for the military discipline, always a bit 
obnoxious to the Anglo-Saxon of the North 
American continent — but absolutely necessary 
if an army is the thing desired, not a mob. On 
a transport the food and sleeping quarters are 
all that anyone could desire in a time of war, 
and they satisfied all, from the veriest batman 
to the highest military officer whose duty it is 
to maintain discipline. 

On my first transport experience we took 
the ship at an Atlantic port some days before 
sailing, and no one knew the date or hour of 
our intended start except the first officer of 

293 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

the ship, who received his orders from the ad- 
miralty. Our crowd was an immense one, 
made up of men from all the different depart- 
ments of the army, and women who were either 
trained nurses, or members of the Voluntary 
Aid Detachment, going overseas to do their 
bit in the hospitals or the convalescent and 
rest homes in England and France. 

Until the boat started on its voyage, dances 
were held nightly on the main deck, but once 
we put out to sea, the ship traveled in dark- 
ness. No one was permitted on the decks at 
night except the guards, and they were for- 
bidden to smoke for fear of attracting atten- 
tion that was not desirable. 

We were not long away from land till a 
fairly heavy swell made some of the uninitiated 
sea voyagers feel all the pangs of that nauseat- 
ing illness, mal de mer, — seasickness. One of 
the nurses sitting in a deck chair, looking away 
off over the swelling billows, said languidly: 
"If the Germans torpedoed us now, I wouldn't 
even put on a life preserver." And another 
traveler, a Tommy with a markedly Jewish 
cast of countenance, as the ship took a more 

294. 



ON A TRANSPORT 

pronounced dip than heretofore, exclaimed 
loudly : 

"My God! She's a submarine 1" The usual 
sympathetic roar of laughter was the only 
solace that he received ; but one of his pals who 
saw him leaning over the ship's side, giving an 
excellent dinner to the fishes, stepped up to 
him and, giving him a resounding slap on the 
shoulder, said: 

"What's the matter, poor old Ikey? Are 
you seasick?" 

"Am I seasick?" Ikey roared, glaring at him. 
"What da hell do ye tink I'm doin' dis for? 
For notting?" 

We had not proceeded far on our voyage 
when a cast-iron order was issued that all must 
wear their life-belts at all hours of the day. 
And shortly, life-boat drill became a daily 
occurrence at irregular hours. A bugle call 
to drill would be given, a call that might be 
real for all that anyone knew, and each com- 
pany, section, and unit took its apportioned 
part of the deck, to be inspected by the higher 
officers. Life boats were kept conveniently 
hanging over the side of the ship for emergen- 

295 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

cies, and certain officers were detailed to each 
boat whose duty it was in case of mishap, to 
maintain order during the loading and launch- 
ing of that boat. Before long this drill was 
carried out with the most exact precision. 

There were a few other parades daily for the 
different sections. A sick parade was held 
each morning, and a hospital established for 
those too sick to stay up and about. The med- 
ical officers and nurses were detailed in turn 
to do duty in this institution. But nothing of 
a very serious nature turned up on the voy- 
age. 

Otherwise time was whiled away much as 
usual on shipboard. Some of us took to the 
gymnasium, trying out all the exercises from 
throwing the medicine ball to riding the horse, 
at which some of the cavalry officers would 
give that excellent piece of advice to those be- 
ginning to learn to ride : 

Keep your head and your heart up, 
Your hands and your heels down ; 
Keep your knees close to your horse's side, 
And your elbows close to your own. 

The regular stewards, who were serving on 

the ship as in peace times, amused themselves 

296 



ON A TRANSPORT 

by telling tales that they were supposed to have 
heard in confidence from the wireless operator, 
and which they would whisper into your ears 
in a supposedly friendly manner at any and 
every opportunity. They were tales to the 
effect that just ahead of us last night such- 
and-such a ship was torpedoed and sunk by 
the Germans with all on board, "and not a 
soul was saved." They would add that the 
Germans had a most intense desire to get our 
boat; why, it was common talk in New York, 
so a friend had written to them, that a sub 
would get us this trip; "as a matter of fact, 
sir, betting is five to one that they will sink 
us." What a ghastly sense of humor some of 
those stewards have ! 

However, the days slipped by, and no one 
seemed to be at all worrying as to his or her 
safety. The last couple of days out from Eng- 
land the guns, fore and aft, were gotten ready 
for business, in case the Hun dared to show 
the nose of his periscope in our neighborhood. 
Eyes looked in all directions searching for the 
tell-tale trail of a torpedo, and, though many 
were called out, few chose to materialize. Sud- 

297 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

denly one morning someone spied out a couple 
of those fast, dangerous-looking torpedo boats 
which swung about, and crossed our bows, and 
thenceforth accompanied us like a pair of faith- 
ful bulldogs accompanying their master on 
horseback. 

Though no one had expressed a word of fear 
of the submarines, and no person, man or wom- 
an, on board had seemed to worry in the least 
as to the possible dangers from torpedoes, it 
was noticeable at once that a pressure or ten- 
sion had been withdrawn. In the smoking 
room the hum of voices rose to a much higher 
pitch than it had attained during the previous 
twenty-four hours of the voyage, during which 
we had felt that a danger might lurk unseen 
about us. The gayety on deck became appre- 
ciably more merry. These torpedo boats ac- 
companied us till we reached the safety of the 
harbor; and as we once again placed our feet 
upon the soil we felt that in war as in peace the 
end of a voyage is often the most welcome pari; 
of it. 

But was it the end of the voyage? Ah, no, 
it was but the beginning; because for the men 

298 



ON A TRANSPORT 

there are many hard roads to travel ere they 
reach that which they set out to attain — a 
goal of peace and liberty for the small and 
the large nations, protected by the democracies 
of the old and the new world. And the women 
who accompanied us will soothe many a poor 
boy's pain or ease his troubled mind, and will 
write many a letter of comfort to his loved 
ones at home, ere they join us at that peaceful 
goal we all desire to reach. 



CHAPTER XXIV 

DECORATIONS 

TO sneer at decorations is often much 
easier than to earn them. 
It is true that more decorations, from the 
Victoria Cross down, have been awarded in 
this war than in the hundred years before it. 
It may be stated that for each of these distinc- 
tions given a man, ten others should now be 
wearing the bit of ribbon which signifies the 
award, if justice could only be done. Many 
a high-minded chap is lying out there, with 
only a small wooden cross to mark his last rest- 
ing place, who, if the truth were but known, 
earned the finest that we had to give. And 
thousands of gallant others there are with 
naught but their khaki to distinguish them 
as soldiers of liberty, who have, with a smile 
on their lips and with no thought of awards or 
rewards in their minds performed feats of the 
noblest courage and self-sacrifice. 

800 



DECORATIONS 

It was an inspiration of genius that made 
Napoleon institute the Legion of Honor. By 
that act he proved himself a student of human 
nature, as well as the greatest military leader 
of perhaps any age. For most men who are 
normally constituted would rather receive a 
decoration honestly earned for gallantry on the 
field, than accept a reward in money for the 
same deed. While it is true that : 

Ambition has but one reward for all: 
A little power, a little transient fame, 
A grave to rest in, and a fading name; 

a large proportion of humankind are so con- 
stituted that for "a little transient fame" they 
are willing, aye, even anxious, to risk getting 
only "a grave to rest in." 

The difficulty lies in deciding who is most 
worthy of these coveted awards, for in the ex- 
citement of battle courageous acts are com- 
mon, and often unobserved. For the occasional 
man who has unjustly received an award, there 
are thousands whose bravery should be reward- 
ed, but who, for one reason or another, are 
overlooked. All who show courage and re- 
source cannot be chosen for the bit of ribbon, 

301 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

so the attempt is made to choose the most con- 
spicuous examples. And in this choosing it is 
inevitable that fallible human nature must of- 
ten err, but the erring rarely goes to the extent 
of recommending someone who is wholly un- 
worthy. 

Someone has sneer ingly remarked that the 
surest way to a decoration is to court the favor 
of one's commanding officer who usually puts 
in the recommendations for award; but there 
must be few officers commanding units who 
would be so unwise as to alienate the loyalty 
of their men by picking favorites in this man- 
ner. And men are not so depraved that there 
are many who would desire the recognition 
of the multitude without at least fair grounds 
for that recognition and praise. You might 
suppose that at the base or at home, where 
recognition is given rather for general good 
work than for special acts of honor, favoritism 
is more common. But it may safely be stated 
that decorations in all fields are usually hon- 
estly earned. 

The saddest mistake is when a man has per- 
formed some lofty, noble, self-sacrificing act, 

302 



DECORATIONS 

yet receives no reward but his consciousness 
of duty well done. 

I was one day assisting Colonel B to 

hold a board on a disabled soldier to decide the 
amount of his disability and his right to pen- 
sion. His left arm was missing, and Colonel 

B , in his sympathetic manner, asked him 

how he had lost it. The facts were that he 
and his officer, being one night out on a scout- 
ing trip in No Man's Land, were both wound- 
ed by rifle fire, the officer the more seriously. 
The private put his officer on his shoulders 
and carried him through a shower of machine- 
gun bullets to a place of safety in a shellhole 
near their own parapet, one of the bullets 
smashing the man's arm on the way. In the 
morning both were pulled in by comrades, and 
sent to the hospital. The officer died on the 
way without regaining consciousness, and the 
private's left arm had to be amputated. He 
alone knew the details of his heroic work, and 
he received an ordinary pension for a V. C. 
deed. He told his story at the colonel's re- 
quest, in a quiet, modest, uncomplaining man- 
ner which gave it the stamp of truth. His 

303 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

case is one of many like it where no adequate 
reward has been given for great heroism; but 
their total avoidance is impossible. 

Sergeant-Major D took part in the 

Battle of the Somme, and did such excellent 
work under dangerous surroundings that he 
was recommended for a decoration, which rec- 
ommendation was approved. In the usual 
course of events it was published in divisional 

orders that Sergeant-Ma j or D had been 

awarded the Military Medal. But then the 
powers bethought themselves that he, being a 
warrant officer, should have been given in- 
stead the Military Cross, and as a result the 
whole order was cancelled, and he was given 
nothing. However, at the Battle of Vimy 
Ridge, he was a Lieutenant in our battalion. 
Some months previously he had been given his 
promotion, really against his own desires as he 
said that he could do better work in the junior 
position — a not very common. form of modesty 
in the army. After this battle he was chosen 
for courageous and able work, and was award- 
ed the Military Cross. Thus he at last came 
into his own. 

304 



DECORATIONS 

The Blank Highlanders held the lines to 
the right of a certain Canadian battalion. They 
planned to put on an important raid, but, be- 
ing short a certain necessary section, they 
asked the loan of an officer and twenty men of 
this section of the Canadians on their left. The 
Canadians were glad of the honor of aiding 
this well-known Scottish unit in their raid. 
Twenty men gaily joined them, but for some 
reason the men were sent in charge of two 
officers, the regular officer of the section and 
a subaltern. The officer in charge remained 
at the Scottish H. Q., while his subaltern took 
part in the raid. So effectually did the Cana- 
dians aid the Scots that the latter were very 
high in their praise of the Canadians, and put 
in a recommendation that "the officer in charge 
of this Canadian Section be awarded the M. C. 
for gallantry," intending the award for the 
subaltern who had assisted them on the field. 

But the "officer in charge of the Canadian 
Section " was he who had remained at the 
H. Q. By some twist in this recommendation 
he received, and accepted, the M. C. which had 
been meant for his junior who had really done 

305 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

the gallant work for which the decoration was 
given. The subaltern did not get even a men- 
tion in dispatches, and at a later date he was 
killed while fighting bravely. 

The Canadian battalion to which the two 
officers belonged were so annoyed, and so 
ashamed of the decorated officer, that no word 
was said of the mistake to their Scottish friends. 
The officer was allowed to wear without com- 
ment his unearned award, but his stay with his 
battalion came to an abrupt end shortly after- 
ward. 

But it may be repeated safely that mistakes 
such as the above are very, very rare, and that 
most of those who win recognition on the field 
may wear their ribbons with pride and without 
shame. 



CHAPTER XXVj 

ON A HILL 

JUST before the great Vimy Ridge offen- 
sive a crowd of us stood on a small hillock 
beside our camp, which is in a wood six or seven 
miles behind our lines, to watch the "earth- 
quake" that was to open on Thelus at 3 p. m., 
and of which we had been told by brigade. 
The "earthquake" was to take the form of a 
bombardment of Thelus, — a small town one 
mile behind the German lines, opposite our 
front, and which, from the lines, we could see 
very distinctly with the naked eye, — by every 
gun of ours that could throw a shell into it. As 
guns here are much more numerous to the 
square mile than they were even at the Somme, 
and as others are going forward day and night, 
some so large that it takes eight or ten horses 
to pull them, and as ammunition goes forward 
at the rate of three or four hundred motor lor- 

307 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

ries full daily for each mile of front, this means 
indeed an earthquake. 

We stood on the hillock at the "zero" hour, 
and on the stroke of three, shells began to burst 
on the skyline. Some, high explosives prob- 
ably, caused those immense black upheavals of 
earth which, except for their color, remind one 
of nothing so much as the spouting of a whale 
at sea. Others bursting higher in the air, 
shrapnel very likely, left large, white, fleecy 
clouds just above the skyline, and a third type 
burst with a flash of flame, and left brown 
clouds of smoke in their wake. 

Higher in the air, all along the front, some 
near, some far, some ours, and others the en- 
emy's, hung nine immense observation bal- 
loons ; and soaring in and out among them were 
twenty-one aeroplanes by actual count at one 
moment. Some of them were being shelled, 
for fluffy clouds of smoke were about them 
showing the bursting shells from anti-aircraft 
guns, and while we watched two machines en- 
gaged in one of those ever-interesting air duels, 
out of which one of them came nosing down 
into the earth. Whether it was our machine 

308 



ON A HILL 

or an enemy we could not tell at the distance. 

Even the sights on the earth were of inter- 
est. The tall Gothic towers on the hill at Mt. 
St. Eloy were silhouetted against the blue of 
the sky, on our right. On the extreme left 
was an emaciated forest, standing out against 
the horizon ; and between these two land-marks 
were countless acres of cultivated ground, just 
about to give forth the first sprouts of the 
hoped-for harvest. Here and there the white 
walls of the lime-stone farm houses, with their 
red-tiled roofs, broke the monotony ; and about 
the center of the picture a group of them with 
the shell-shattered spire of a church in their 
midst formed the village of Villers aux Bois. 
To the left of this latter place lay a peaceful 
cemetery with some two thousand graves of 
British, French, and Canadian soldiers who 
had given up their lives on the blood-stained 
soil of France in the cause of liberty. Dis- 
tinctly we could see through glasses a padre 
saying prayers for the dead over the bodies of 
some of the allied soldiers which were being 
laid in the newly-dug graves. 

Beyond the cemetery a road twisted here 
309 



A SURGEON IN ARMS 

and there, and along it hurried from time to 
time motor ambulances, with the large, red 
cross on their sides ; motor lorries, full of food 
and munitions ; limbers, painted in vari-colored 
patterns, and looking like a calithumpian pro- 
cession, to make them inconspicuous against 
the earth to the German aviators; large guns 
drawn by strings of horses; pack mules with 
their burdens of shells ; and motor cyclists hur- 
rying forward or rearward with messages. 
And all this in the cause of the great god, 

Mars! 

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